On bail
by Kuri333
Summary: Modern AU. She is still the main suspect of Green's murder, but finally out of prison, at least for the time being. Desperately looking for a job, while trying to put her life back together, Anna meets Mr Bates.
1. Chapter 1

There is a grey woman standing in front of him. She has been answering his questions, politely enough, uttering words through colourless lips in a flat voice. Her eyes rarely meet his, and when that happens, he sees a dull, lifeless blue.

He should not care.

"You will be all right with the long hours?" Bates asks. "Starting at six, finishing at eleven. Two breaks, one in the morning, one in the afternoon. One free day a week. On Sundays we finish after lunch."

She nods, not exactly the wordy type.

"You can have your meals here", through the window of his small office, he points at a table in the back of the busy kitchen. "No taking food home."

She nods again.

"When can you start, Mrs…?" he looks at the single sheet of paper in front of him. The photocopy of her ID. "Smith?"

"It's Miss," she says. "Tomorrow, if that suits you."

It did. Since he had to fire the last cleaning lady, two weeks ago, he had had to do most of the cleaning himself, helped by the apprentice of the chef and the two waiters, who were not exactly thrilled with the demotion. The solving of the cleaning problem would definitely give him some peace of mind.

"I'll meet you tomorrow, then. 6 am. The back door."

"I'll be there," she says. It seems she is about to turn around and go, but she looks at him for a moment. "Thanks."

"Do your job and there won't be need for that."

There is the shadow of a tight lipped smile, which disappears almost as quickly as it came. With a nod, Anna Smith leaves the office and, sidestepping one of the waiters, she walks to the back and exits through the back door.

With a sigh, Bates heads to the kitchen, where, as it is usual, the tiny chef is yelling her head off, while the young sous-chef, without even flinching, skillfully flames a piece of streak.

"So?" Patmore barks at Bates when she sees him approaching them.

"Tell the boys there's no need for them to come early tomorrow," he says distractedly, fixing the contour on a plate that is about to go out.

"About time," she grunts.

* * *

The only good thing about prison is that you don't spend money. Nobody warns you, though, that once you get out you have to struggle again, with the additional unwelcome load of having to carry that stigma along with you.

A criminal record. Even if you are innocent, but there is no point of following that train of thought.

She has managed to get a job, and her new employer, the poor sod, has not even bothered checking the records. At least, not yet, which suits her beautifully.

With a final sigh she reaches the attic room that these days is her home. It is tiny, with barely enough room for a bed, a desk and a small kitchen. It is a good thing she will not have to eat here, or the fumes of the cooking would suffocate her. A door in the far end leads to a bathroom. The collection of her things, scattered about, and the piles of cardboard boxes, make the situation much more dramatic.

But Anna is not a slob, and now that her work situation is fixed, she needs to do something for herself. With a sigh she starts running through her belongings, the boxes that contain what her old life was. Dresses, high-heel shoes, even a hat she bought for a friend's wedding. For a moment she considers throwing the lot away. It is almost a miracle her previous landlady didn't do it, choosing to pack it all and send it to her, the minute she learned Anna was free.

There are things that she might use, though. Some jeans, old sweatpants, t-shirts. Trying her best to stop memories from better times, Anna sorts the contents of the boxes, and closes most of them again. In the small wardrobe now there is only a handful of things, all comfortable, nondescript, dull. The sort of thing you would expect the average cleaning lady would wear to work.

There are just two boxes remaining. Somebody has written "stuff" on them, and they are considerably heavier. She is not ready for that yet: books, work stuff, diaries and the like. Who, in her situation, would need any of it?

Anna piles the boxes behind the door. It does not look pretty, but at least it is tidy, and the small attic room even seems to be a tad larger than before. The only surface occupied is the small table. A cheap newspaper lies open in the classifieds, circles hastily traced on some of the advertisements. She folds the paper neatly and puts it on the bottom of the single drawer, an old habit she had learned from her late grandmother. Over it, she places her few new belongings: a yellow highlighter, a cheap pen, a small notebook.

She is tired, but sleep eludes her. The mattress is lumpy and there were no linens in the boxes. She wraps herself on a jacket and, after fixing the t-shirt with which she covers the old pillow, she curls up, facing the wall.

Just like the previous nights, after her release, she cries herself to sleep.

* * *

 **AN: This is my first attempt at modern AU. I'm both scared and excited.**

 **I expect the next chapters will be longer. All feedback is greatly appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2

He or whoever should be here to open the door is late. And it's a chilly morning. Anna stomps her feet to the ground to warm up, her hands deep inside the pockets of the large sweatshirt she's wearing. She has not even had a cup of coffee, not owning a teapot or even coffee to brew. She glances at the screen of her cell-phone, a souvenir the prison guards kept for her and gave back upon her release. It's 6.18 and there's no sign of him.

Finally she sees Mr Bates, emerging from the entrance of the tube, walking briskly.

"Sorry I'm late," he says as a greeting, with a smile that looks a tad embarrassed.

"S'ok," she mutters, _not that I am freezing to death over here or anything._

He fumbles with a handful of keys and it seems to take him forever until he finally opens the small back door. Without the cooks, the yells and the flames erupting here and there, the kitchen looks eerie, even when he turns on the lights. It also looks quite large.

"Follow me," he motions. There is a door next to his office's. He opens it; it's a small room full of cleaning supplies. "You can wear one of the aprons," Mr Bates points at a couple of denim garments hanging next to the door. "Usually you should be finished with the dining room before seven. The kitchen staff won't be here until ten, so you can take your time with that."

"It's six forty-two," she mutters, not sure if wanting him to hear her or not.

He does. "Usually," he repeats. "You can take longer today."

She has taken a glance at the dining room the day before, passing the large windows on her way to the back door. It's not exactly huge, but large enough.

Without further ado, Anna takes off her sweatshirt and puts on an apron. She's still cold, but she's sure she'll be hot in no time.

"Right," Mr Bates mutters, apparently unsure of what to do next. She's already grabbing a broom and a cloth. "Er… Anna?"

She looks at him, eyebrows raised.

"You let me know if you need anything."

She stops the urge to roll her eyes at him. _Could you provide a new life, by any chance?_ "Of course."

How long have they been without cleaning staff, she cannot tell, but the consequences are evident. There are layers of dust over most surfaces, fluff in the corners, and dirt inside the cupboards. Still, it's not a bad job, and the rhythm of it suits Anna. It requires some strategy, but allows her mind to wander a bit. Not much, though, that would not do.

While she cleans the table tops, he takes trays of sandwiches and pastries from inside the kitchen and places them on counters in the front. Barely two minutes before seven, steps come from the kitchen and, after a moment, a young man enters, fixing a black apron over his snow white shirt.

"Morning, Mr Bates,"

"Morning, William,"

"Hello, there," the man calls over the counter, and Anna realises he's talking to her.

She looks at him, his attention is fixed in the coffee machine. "Hello," she says back, but she doubts he hears her. Cleaning ladies are supposed to be invisible, she guesses. Probably that's for the best.

A moment later Mr Bates opens the door and clients start lining up for their early dose of coffee. Anna tries to finish as quickly as possible, not just because of shame or distress. The fabulous smell of fresh coffee is making her feel dizzy and it takes a lot of self-control not to jump over the counter and snatch one of the paper cups William is handing the clients.

It's nearly eight when she is almost satisfied with her job, and she hurries to start with the kitchen. She does not want anybody to see that those vast steel surfaces intimidate her, and she would very much prefer to finish it all before the cooks came in.

"Anna?" Mr Bates calls from behind the till, just as she was about to cross the double swing-doors. "Would you like some coffee?"

She freezes. Would she indeed. Her feet take her to the coffee machine and she realises she might be very close to smiling.

"Black?" Mr Bates asks.

"Yeah, just black."

The boss nods at William who promptly takes the largest paper cup and fills it to the brim. With a small flourish, he puts a carton sleeve on it and gives it to her. "You look as if you need this," he says.

"I do," Anna nods, almost burning her lips in her eagerness.

She does not want to linger, so she takes the cup to the kitchen, leaving it over the counter. She will keep on cleaning, taking small sips now and then. It is a great coffee. She should know.

* * *

"You want me to check on her? Besides everything I have to do?" Mrs Patmore's angry whisper is as good as a scream. Bates only hopes the sound of the kitchen, now working on lunch, would drown the chef's words.

"I can't follow her all the time!" Bates snaps.

"I don't see why not, what else do you have to do?"

"Careful, Patmore, you're crossing the line here."

The chef huffs and glares at him, but he doesn't flinch. Patmore loses her temper at least once a day, for one reason or other.

"I'm just saying we can't be too careful," Bates speaks again, in a much calmer tone.

"Or she'd take off with the knives, as the other one did."

Bates groans. "Exactly."

"But you've asked for references this time, haven't you?"

"Of course I have," he says dismissively. "Now, don't you have some fire to extinguish?"

At this Patmore finally chuckles. "None of your cheek with me," she says before leaving. "Daisy! That fish better not be dry!"

Bates' smile is replaced by a frown a second later. No, of course he has not asked for references. They were in desperate need for somebody to do the cleaning, and so far this Anna woman had been the only one to respond to his advertisement. It was not a time to be picky; now it was up to him and the rest of the restaurant's staff to see that she'd behave.

* * *

The first week has passed quickly and Anna finds herself the following Monday, waiting outside for Mr Bates to open the door for her. After that first time, he has not been late again and she is grateful, as the days are getting colder.

She has a routine now, mechanically cleaning all the tables and sweeping the dining room. She is quick; the last two days, hers has been the first cup of coffee William has served, having finished before seven.

The kitchen is much more difficult and it takes her a lot of time to cover every surface. On her first day she listened to a long rant from the chef about what exactly does she mean by "spotless". Anna could not tell what was more humiliating, being yelled at by a tiny round red haired cook, or sneered at by the rest of the kitchen staff.

Since she is supposed to finish before mid-day, she does not eat with them. On her second day, Daisy, the sous-chef, served her a plate of chicken and pasta. It was delicious, and it did not escape to Anna the fact that this was the first real, tasty meal she was having since before prison.

"Don't take Patmore too seriously," Daisy whispered, evidently proud at the way Anna was enjoying the dish. "She's all about hard love, her heart is in the right place."

Anna has to take her word for it.

At the beginning she does not know what to do with her long breaks. Three hours are enough to go back home, but she does not have anything to do there either, so she walks up and down the city, still afraid she'll cross paths with somebody that could recognise her. After a couple of days she has learned that the best use of her breaks is, precisely, to go home and sleep.

Not today, though. Today she has a mission. She won't get her first check for three other weeks, and she needs stuff. Something warm, to begin with. The moment she finishes her lunch, an amazing combination of cooked vegetables and fish, she thanks Daisy and runs to the tube. The ride to her old neighbourhood takes her a long time. This long distance from the places she used to go to is one of the advantages of her current job.

She has mixed feelings when walking those so very familiar streets. They are loaded with all sorts of memories, and it feels as if her feet are guiding her body automatically. Once she's in front of the door, Anna hesitates. She should have called beforehand, but the thought never occurred to her. Still, she's there, and there's not much time.

Mrs Logan answers the door, and her eyes open wide at the sight of her.

"I'm glad you're here," Anna says. "I just need to ask you something."

It is clear her former landlady would much rather close the door and forget about her. Anna holds her gaze, ready to beg if it's what it takes.

"What is it," Mrs Logan finally says, and Anna cannot help but notice she is not let in.

"I want to thank you for sending my stuff."

The landlady just nods. "It was the right thing to do. Those things were not mine."

"Right. Only… I'm sorry, but wasn't there anything else?"

Mrs Logan's gaze hardens. "Like what?" she snaps.

"Stuff. Kitchen supplies. Linens. Quilts. I know the apartment was furnished, but we- I did bring some stuff."

For a long moment Mrs Logan does not say a thing, but Anna is relieved she does not look so stern anymore.

"He took it," she finally said.

"He… what?"

"Michael. He came about a week after you we're… after you left. And he took stuff, saying it was his. I could not stop him, I didn't know."

"Michael," she repeated in a flat voice, her eyes unfocused.

"I knew you were not together anymore but then… I just…" she has nothing to say, really. Nor does Anna.

"Thank you, Mrs Logan," she turns around to go.

"Wait." Mrs Logan is still standing on the threshold. "I… wait a moment, please." She closes the door, carefully, and Anna doubts. She wants to go, it is humiliating enough to stand here, as if she was a salesman nobody wants to talk to. Only, she's something worse, the main suspect of a case of murder.

She does not have to wait too long, though, as Mrs Logan emerges again, a brownish bundle under her arm. "Take this," she says, shoving it on Anna's arms.

"What?" It's a quilt, warm and heavy. It is also charity.

"Take it," the older lady says. "I don't need it."

"Thank you, Mrs Logan, but I don't think-"

The door closes, and Anna is talking to the wooden surface. For a moment she considers leaving the quilt right there, in the front steps. Only, it is very warm indeed. And her first pay check is due in three long, cold weeks.

She walks back to the tube, her head full of scrambled thoughts. Michael had left her after… after Green. Because of what Green did to her. Disgusted, he suggested she must have provoked him, enticed that monster somehow. Then he had left. And then, mere weeks after, the police came. How did all happen so quickly? How could a life, her life, be almost perfect one day, and absolutely destroyed in less than one month? Now, the final straw. He took her things, leaving her with barely anything.

The tears that fall on the quilt are not sad, but angry ones.

* * *

It's almost midnight. Engrossed as he was in looking at new ideas for next month's menu, he just realises it. He has to go home if he wants to get some sleep at all.

As he shuts down the computer, he wonders why Anna has left without saying good-bye. Or maybe she did, and he did not pay attention?

As a routine he is about to check the dining room and the kitchen, when something out of place catches his eye. A dark something occupying part of the staff table.

Anna has fallen asleep, her head on her arms. She is frowning slightly, but other than that she looks peaceful. Bates realises it's a gesture she does not display often.

He hates to disturb her, but it is late and he does not want to have to answer to some enraged boyfriend wanting to know why she is home so late.

"Anna," he whispers. She does not move. "Anna," he tries louder, this time gently tapping her arm.

She flinches and recoils. "What?" her eyes snap open.

"Sorry," Bates jumps back. "I didn't want to scare you."

She looks confused, strangely younger. "Sorry, I- I'm so sorry, Mr Bates. I just… doze off. I don't know how... it's so warm in here..." she rubs her eyes. It's an endearing sight. Suddenly she is much more alert. "What time is it?"

"It's midnight. I didn't know you were here, or I'd have woken you up."

"Never mind," her eyes do not quite meet his and that makes him a little uncomfortable. "I'll go now."

"Do you want me to give you a lift?" He hopes she doesn't live too far from here.

She squints her eyes at him. "I thought you take the tube."

"Sometimes I do. Today I was meeting with suppliers, so I drove."

She nods. And a moment later she's shaking her head. "There's no need. I'll see you tomorrow."

He wants to say something. He can't explain it, but he's suddenly not very comfortable with the idea of her walking up the streets at this hour. Only he does not come with anything and a moment later, Anna has grabbed her bag and disappeared through the door.

* * *

It's two o'clock when she reaches the attic room. As she had expected, it's almost as cold as the restaurant's fridge. She wishes she had taken up his offer for a lift, as the half an hour waiting for the night bus could have been replaced by sitting inside a car with the heat on. The next second she laughs dismissively. To trust him like that? Impossible. Risky. And she does not need her boss, or anybody, to know about this place.

Without removing her jacket, she wraps herself on the brown quilt. It's not nearly enough.

She grabs an extra pair of socks and puts it on. Then an extra sweatshirt. Sitting up, her back against the wall, she curls up. Tired as she is, sleep eludes her.

That first check can't come soon enough.

* * *

 **AN: Thank you all very, very much! I'm overwhelmed by the reviews, you guys are amazing!**

 **Special thanks to Isis the Dog, who posted the first review right when I was starting to feel terribly self-conscious.**

 **Cheers!**


	3. Chapter 3

It's not much.

The memory of far more decent checks almost forgotten, she beams at the small piece of paper.

It's not much, but it'll be enough.

After cashing it, Anna carefully puts aside the rent money. What is left would have seemed ridiculous in another life. But this is her life now and she has to be smart about it.

The heater is small, and it's a good thing her room is too. It won't be tropical warm, but whatever small increase of temperature will be welcomed. She considers buying a duvet, but the price seems extravagant. Maybe next month. For the time being, wearing extra layers of clothes will have to do.

The second thing she gets is a kettle, and some instant coffee. She considers getting something to eat as well, but there really is no need. The only day on the week she does not eat at the restaurant, her free day on Wednesdays, she just gets a sandwich. It's easier and cheap.

She walks home from the store, her new belongings on two plastic bags. Anna does not feel exactly happy, but there is some fierce pride bubbling to the surface. She has made it. One month and she has secured a paying job and even some new possessions. Not exactly a Nobel prize, but not a small feature either.

Distractedly she looks at the shops' displays. Some of them are already putting on Christmas decorations. For a moment she even considers getting a small Christmas tree but she laughs dismissively. That would certainly be a waste of much needed money.

Suddenly she stops. Talking about wasting money.

The notebooks are small, black, with a rubber band to close them. She knows them very well; she even owned one or two of them before... she remembers the feel of the soft yellowish pages, and how nice it was to scribble her silly ideas from time to time. For that, a regular notebook would do. But there is something almost magical about this sort.

Anna enters the store. She loves the smell of supplies. She makes a beeline for the small black notebooks. 9 pounds. It's a lot. More than a lot. It's two lunches. Several rides in the tube. Half of what her cheap heater cost. And yet...

Impulsively, she grabs one, and with two quick strides she is at the till, paying for it. During the rest of the way home, the notebook feels heavy inside her pocket. She has second thoughts, and she wonders if regret will prevent her to enjoy writing on it, but it's too late for that.

Once she arrives, purposefully, she tears open the plastic wrapper and opens it. Grabbing her pen, she writes on the first page with tidy, bold letters.

 _Anna May Smith_

There. No turning back, so she'd better enjoy it.

xxxx

The new cleaning lady turns out to be very efficient. So efficient, in fact, that he barely notices her presence anymore. She seems to have learned everybody's timetables, so to work without disturbing them.

His office, for instance, is always clean when he comes back in the afternoon for dinner.

Even Patmore has nothing wrong to say about Anna, and that speaks volumes.

"I bet she'd go."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh I don't know." Patmore waves a hand in the air. "A husband. A better job. Something. She's too good to be true, mark my words."

At this Bates rolls his eyes at her.

The second night he finds her after hours, she is at the large staff table again. Only this time she's not asleep. Under the light of a lonely lamp, she's writing furiously. An almost empty plate lies there, the remaining of her dinner, surely. He doesn't want to disturb her; whatever it is, it seems important. But it is late and he wants to go home.

As if she has read his thoughts, she looks up. Scrambling, she closes the small notebook and puts the pen away.

"I'm sorry, Mr Bates," she says in that flat voice of hers.

"No reason for it," he says. "I was just about to leave."

She nods, and takes the dirty plate to the sink. "I just need a minute."

"Leave it." He surprises himself saying. But then, he does want to go home, and her washing would delay it. "The boys can take care of it tomorrow."

"I'm sorry, but no." The water is already running as she ignores what he just said and skilfully washes the dirty dish. "I can't be a burden for anybody."

He wants to say something but he doesn't know what, as exasperation and sympathy fight against each other in his mind.

It takes her less than a minute, to be fair, and she puts in her coat and grabs her bag almost before he is ready to go himself.

He closes the door and walks next to her.

"No car today," he says, and he wonders why it feels as if he's making excuses.

She shrugs. After a moment she speaks, "the tube is almost empty this late. It's not bad."

"How are you coping with the late hours?"

"I can manage."

"Evidently," why do her answers always sound somewhat short? Not rude, but not friendly either. "I'm just concerned about what your family might think."

"There's no family. So, no need to worry."

Her steps are swift, her arms wrapped as tightly to her frame as humanly possible. It almost feels as if she wants to occupy no room at all.

"And are you not too tired?"

"You open and close with me. If you're not tired, why should I be?"

He chuckles. "I do take longer breaks."

"True," she says softly.

They have reached the entrance to the tube. "I'm going that direction," he points to one of the tunnels.

"And I go the opposite direction." She says simply. "Good night."

"See you tomorrow," he calls at her retreating back, feeling foolish.

xxxx

The note is waiting for her under the door. An official-looking envelope. She has seen too many of these in the past few months. A cold shiver runs down her spine and, with trembling hands, she opens it.

A citation. The second one since going out of prison.

She has to go and see the officer in charge of her case at the station. Next Monday.

She groans. She will have to call her lawyer and ask Mr Bates for the afternoon off. She knows how this things work. The citations are scheduled, but they are never on time. She can't count on her break to be done with it.

It's too late to call Mr Murray now. She will have to do it tomorrow.

As she makes herself a cup of tea and curls on her chair to keep on writing that idea she had when she was finishing her shift, she admits it's not terribly bad. At least it's just an envelope waiting for her, and not a pack of cocky officers.

The next day, Mr Bates seems slightly surprised with her request.

"An afternoon off?"

"Not off, exactly." She is fidgeting. His gaze is intense, always, but today it feels almost as if he can read inside of her. "I'll work on Wednesday to replace it."

"We already _have_ somebody on Wednesday replacing _you_. There is no point for you to come as well."

Of course. How stupid of her not to have noticed.

"Take it off my wages, then. And... I can come back on Monday to finish at night. Only, much later than my usual break time."

Mr Bates sighs. "All right."

She can't stop sighing, relieved. "Thanks."

"But let's not make a habit out of this."

She shakes her head. "I won't, sir." Even though she will have to. Every month until she gets a trial.

Talking to Mr Murray is much more difficult.

"So go already," he yells over the phone, evidently annoyed at having to talk to her.

"I know I have to go," Anna says, walking up and down the alleyway behind Mr Bates' restaurant, where she has gone to be able to talk with relative privacy.

"Then?"

"Then?" Anna bites her lip to stop herself from yelling. "Shouldn't you go with me?"

"Why should I?" Mr Murray's voice is loaded with disdain.

"Because you're my lawyer! I'm paying you to do this!" Anna pinches the bridge of her nose. _I'm paying you every penny I'd saved for my entire life!_ She wants to add, but she stops herself at the sight of Alfred, the kitchen apprentice, going out with a large black bag to put in the trash container. He smiles at her and she nods.

"You don't need me for every citation. Do you think I'd run after every call my clients get from the police?"

"And can you task somebody to go with me?"

At the other end of the call, Mr Murray sighed. "I'd though prison had toughened you up."

"Excuse me?" Anna's voice drops an octave.

"You don't need me, missy. Go there, talk to the officer, and next time you call me, make sure it's for something that's really important." And with that, Mr Murray hangs on her.

She stands still for a moment, the phone still clutched to her ear.

Finally, the cold makes her move. She shoves the phone and her hands into her pockets, and leans against the brick wall. The truth is she is afraid. She has had too many encounters with the police before. During the trial, in prison, afterwards. She hates it. The way they would look at her, as if she was a convicted murderer instead of just a suspect. Sometimes they would even try to chat her up, to overtly flirt with her, calling things like "hun", "sweetie" or "love". Those were the worse.

"Everything all right, love?" Mrs Patmore's bark makes her jump.

"Yeah, yeah," she stutters.

The chef is carrying a plate with leftovers for the local cats. Anna has learnt it's a habit of hers, and she likes it for it.

"Only, you look a tad queasy."

"I… was a little light-headed. That's all. I'm fine."

Mrs Patmore looked at her sharply. "You sure?"

Anna nods, and heads towards the door. "Absolutely, Mrs Patmore. No reason to worry."

"I should hope so," she says, following Anna inside.

On Monday Anna is so edgy she arrives to the restaurant half an hour early. When Mr Bates finds her, she is so cold he notices it, and offers her a cup of coffee even before she puts her apron on. It is strange to see him operating the large coffee machine, used as she is to see him behind the till, or directing people around.

"Are you all right?" he asks, and she wishes she was less obvious.

"Fine. Just a tad cold."

He nods. "Maybe… no, never mind."

"What?" why is she curious, she can't tell.

"Nothing," he says, and retreats to the back, to carry the trays of sandwiches for display.

xxxx

There has been something about her, only it seemed impertinent to ask what is the matter to somebody who never volunteers information about herself.

The request for an afternoon off was irregular. Her behaviour, much more so.

As she has said, she arrives late on Monday, and starts catching up with her cleaning. At eleven she is ready to go and hastily says good-bye through the window of his office. Bates has the impression she does not want him to accompany her to the tube, thus giving him opportunities to ask her about her afternoon.

On Tuesday she looks tired. Ill, even. But she does not complain and the work is done as good as usual. He sees Daisy briefly talking to her as Anna eats her lunch, only to be called back by one of Patmore's yells. Bates considers for a moment asking his sous-chef if she knows about what's troubling the cleaning lady. Only it all sounds so silly, he doesn't dare.

Why should he, anyway? Why does he care?

A week passes, and she looks even more tired and pale. He suspects she's not getting enough sleep, and he mentions it on passing one of the nights when both exit at the same time. She shrugs and repeats she's fine.

Now she has a cold, and it's painful the way she's trying to make nothing of it. Still, he sees her stop more than once while cleaning the tables in the dining room; her nose is red and her eyes, watery.

That's what convinces him. He knows it's wrong, and it's absolutely not his place to do it. He's just her boss; he shouldn't even think about her this much. Only, he suspects there is nobody thinking about her at all, making sure that she is all right.

That night he lets her go before, and then closes the restaurant in haste, for once not checking that everything is in order. And then, he walks to the tube station, as quickly as possible, while trying hard for his steps not to sound too loud. He arrives at the station just as her train does, and he jumps in the next wagon. She does not see him and that's fortunate, even though he has an excuse at the ready, just in case.

She steps out in one of the lasts stops. It's a neighbourhood he's not very familiar with. The escalator is broken and there is a lot of graffiti on the station walls. Outside it doesn't look much better. As he follows Anna, he sees old houses turned into apartment buildings. A group of lads is standing on a corner, smoking and listening to loud music on a cell phone. Anna crosses the street and, hastily, enters one of the houses. All the windows are dark and he waits outside. Maybe she lives in the other side and he won't be able to see exactly where. Maybe not.

Minutes later there is finally a light in the topmost floor. The attic. He is convinced he can recognise her silhouette against the windows, but maybe it's just wishful thinking.

Now that he knows, he feels like a stalker. Following her? Looking at her through the window at midnight? Hastily he turns around and walks back to the tube. He does not know where did he expect a cleaning lady to live, but it was certainly not this.

An idea crosses his mind. It's not a new one. He has been toying with it for a couple of weeks now, unsure if it was right to act upon it. The sight of the derelict building, the overflowing bin cans, the dampness of the air, finally pushes him to a decision.

The next morning he does not say a thing, relieved to see that Anna looks a bit better. At night, though, before leaving, he calls her into his office.

"Here," he says, handing her a key ring with one single key pending from it.

"What's this?" she asks, taking it with an unsure hand.

"The back door." He needs to be very careful. He does not want her to think he wants her to work even longer. "I might need to go home earlier." It's a lie, but perhaps it will be worthwhile. "Mind that you lock properly when you leave."

And, for the first time, she smiles at him. It's less than a second, but during that brief time she almost looks like a different person.

"I will, Mr Bates," she mutters, carefully putting the key in her front pocket.

Probably he is mistaken, and he hopes to god he is. But if he's right, and she needs a warmer place to be, he's glad he's giving her the chance to stay at the restaurant.

* * *

 **AN: I can't thank you enough for reading and leaving such amazing, generous reviews! You are giving me a lot to think about.**

 **Cheers!**


	4. Chapter 4

The man comes during Anna's morning break, so he does not crosses paths with her. Later, Bates will wonder if that had been orchestrated, but he never asks.

"A police officer wants to talk to you Mr Bates," William says, popping his head around the door of his office.

"What about?" Bates asks. Not that investigation about the previous cleaning lady again, he hopes.

"He didn't say."

Bates sighs and forces a smile on William's behalf. "Better let him in, then."

It's not a very young officer and he seems tired and bored. After taking the seat in front of Bates, and almost without preamble, he starts asking about Anna. How long has she been working there. Has there been any problem during those two months. Does she always shows up on time. Has Mr Bates anything to report.

In a daze, he just answers the questions mechanically until something snaps.

"May I ask what this is about?"

The sergeant raises his eyebrows. "I've been task to check on her story."

"What story?"

"The one she told her officer," he states as if it was the most obvious thing.

Bates frowns. Strange as it is, this is starting to sound oddly familiar.

"What officer?" he asks again, in a completely different tone of voice.

Now the sergeant looks incredulously at him. "You don't know." he says.

"I don't know what?" Bates asks, through gritted teeth.

"Anna Smith, your employee…. she's on bail."

Bates mind goes numb, and it takes him a long moment to find his voice again.

"What charges?"

"If you don't know, I can't tell you," the sergeant shrugs. "Either you ask through the official channels for the report or you ask her."

Bates rubs his eyes with his hand. What could Anna have possibly done to land herself in this situation? And, what's worse, whatever it is, is she guilty or not?

"So you hired her without asking her if she has a criminal record?" the officer's voice is almost a sneer, and Bates wishes nothing but to see the back of him for good.

"I did," he answers simply.

"And later you will come to us, complaining because somebody took off with everything in your restaurant," the sergeant chortles. "When you had it coming all along!"

Bates can't see the fun side of it, and he makes sure his face shows it. However it takes the sergeant a moment to sober up.

"I gather you don't believe in second chances, sergeant," Bates finally says, trying to put as much contempt in his voice as possible.

"And do you?" his eyebrow is crooked.

"Perhaps I do."

But it is not as simple as all that and Bates knows it.

That afternoon he does not go back home after lunch. He barely leaves his office at all. At some point Patmore bursts in.

"So, what did that officer want?"

"Nothing to worry you about," he answers, not taking his eyes off the screen of his computer.

"That bad, huh?"

Bates now has to roll his eyes. "Not necessarily."

"I'll leave you to it, then." Mrs Patmore says before returning to the kitchen.

At the back, Anna is cleaning the staff table, getting it ready for their diner. She will then go to the front, to swipe it before customers arrive. And, Bates supposes, that would be the time when she would clean his office, when he's not there. He knows her routine by heart now. Knows what she would clean first, and how long would it take her. He can even reply her exact movements when taking the apron off the hook and replacing it with her bag, or the way she shrugs her coat off every morning.

And yet, he knows nothing at all.

Finally the staff goes, chatting merrily, oblivious to the turmoil inside him.

As Anna passes in front of his office, he takes his chance.

"Can you come in, please?"

She looks at him and nods. Leaving the broom and bucket outside, next to the door, she enters, rubbing her hands against the apron.

Bates takes a deep breath, intended to be calming, but that has not effect at all.

"Can I ask what you previous job was, before coming to work for me?"

Maybe if he weren't so observant of her every move, he could have missed it. Something flashes through her eyes, now wide open.

"Washing. I was in charge of the clothes in a public facility."

"What facility exactly?"

Anna closes her eyes, but she does not say a thing. He sees she is fidgeting with her hands, pulling at her fingers.

"A police officer came today."

She nods, and opens her eyes.

"I gather you know why," he continues.

Anna nods again. He does not know what to say next. The fact that she does not speak, trying to defend herself or deny something, unsettles him.

"I-" she finally says, and her chin is trembling a little. She clears her throat. "I will hand you my resignation now, Mr Bates."

He knows it must come to this, but her words surprise him nonetheless.

"Why are you on bail?" he asks.

She looks at him, but does not say a word.

"You lied to me," he says after a while.

"I didn't," her voice surprises him. It's suddenly ringing with emotion, so different from the flat tones he's used to hear from her. "I wanted to keep that private."

"That's not something you can keep _private_! Not from your employer!"

"But I have to," her eyes are wide open, looking straight at him now. "Otherwise I wouldn't have an employer at all!"

"That's not my problem!" He regrets it the moment he says it, because it doesn't sound true.

"Of course not. Why should it be? It's mine," her voice is quieter now, but still full of emotion. "I'm really sorry you had to find out like that, Mr Bates."

"Not sorrier than I am."

She snorts now. "Excuse me, but I'm the one losing her job here."

He does not know what to say to that.

"You've been coming here, almost every day," he finally speaks, "working as if nothing were wrong-"

"Has there been something wrong with my job?"

"That's not the point!"

"That's exactly the point! Do you have complains about the way I swipe the floors? About my dusting the winery? Does Mrs Patmore ever find crumbs on her working surfaces? Ingredients out of place? Has something gone missing?" Suddenly she does not look as small. Her back straight, her eyes still locked on his, there is some pride emanating from Anna he has never imagine he would see.

Still, "I trusted you." He says in a low grunt. "And you have not been truthful."

Her shoulders drop and she looks at her shoes, the light in her eyes all but gone.

"I shall finish with the kitchen and go," she says flatly. Her hand rumbles inside her front pocket and she produces the key he gave her not that long ago. She places it on the table. "I won't be back tomorrow."

"There's no need to finish-"

"There's every need."

xxxx

Two days have passed and she has been to eight work interviews. In each and every one of them she has been asked about having criminal records. That usually marked the end of the talk. It strikes Anna now how uncommon Mr Bates' attitude really has been. Too bad there were not many poor sods like him about.

She is starting to consider talking to her officer. She knows there are jobs that would take people that have served time. She had heard nothing but dreadful things about them, but she has to make some money, and quickly, or she would find herself needing to choose between a lawyer or a place to live.

The evening paper has fewer advertisements than the morning edition. Maybe she should just stick to that one. Grunting she circles another possibility. It'll take her almost two hours to get to the place, but she's past the point of caring.

A knock on her door makes her jump. It's six in the afternoon and she only knows one person who knows this address: her landlord. Why would he come, when she has already paid him the month last week?

Scared, she shuffles towards the door, wishing there was a peephole.

"Anna."

Blood freezes on her veins while her heart seems to skip a beat.

"Mr Bates?" _What on Earth is he doing here? How does he know-?_ She does not move and for a moment she hopes he's gone.

"Can you open the door?"

Anna looks around. The place is not as tidy as she wishes to, and she definitely looks terrible, covered in two layers of extra-large sweatpants and shirts. Nothing to be done, and she suspects he will not go away.

With trembling hands she opens the bolt. He's standing on the dimly lit landing, his hands clutching a paper bag.

"I've brought you something," he says simply, handing her the bag. It smells delicious and she suddenly remembers she hasn't had anything to eat since breakfast. "Can I come in?"

She nods, speechless, and moves to the side. It takes him two strides to stand in the centre of the room.

"Would you want to take seat?" she says after what seems like ages, pointing at the chair she just vacated. It's the only one, so after he takes it, she sits on the bed, still holding the paper bag.

He does not remove his coat and she does not blame him. Despite of the little heater's valiant efforts, the room is very cold.

"I would have called," he says. "Only, funnily enough, I never asked for your number."

She does not know what to say. That's another item to add to the long list of things he never asked.

"You might want to eat that, while it's still warm," he points at the bag.

Anna nods, and takes it to the small counter that is supposed to be the kitchen. There are three parcels inside the bag and she takes the topmost, not really caring what's inside.

"Do you want one?" Fortunately there are chopsticks in the bag too. It would have been too embarrassing to admit she did not own cutlery or plates.

"No thanks, I've just eaten."

She nods, and taking the parcel and the sticks, resumes her seat on the bed.

"Thanks," she says, opening the parcel. The smell of noodles and vegetables makes her realise how hungry she really is.

"No problem."

She wants to start eating, but it feels really weird with him looking at her. Perhaps she should have waited for him to go.

"Can I- I want to ask you just one thing. And then I'll leave you to it." he finally says, and she takes it as a cue to start digging in.

"What is it?"

"I'd be ever so thankful if you'd answer me truthfully."

She realises she must be nothing but a criminal in his eyes, and hence the remark is perfectly logical. Yet, she feels affronted.

"Have you ever stolen anything?"

She could never have guessed this would be his one question.

"No," she looks into his eyes, barely blinking.

"Never?"

"Never." She takes a bite of noodles.

"I thought as much."

"No, you didn't." She snaps. "Or I wouldn't be here, looking for a new job."

He sighed. "Would you tell me why you are on bail?"

"I thought you said it'll be just one question."

He chuckled. "You're right. One question only." He does not move, and she takes another bite.

"I can't answer that," she finally says, looking at him again. "I know you need to know, and I'm sorry, but I just can't."

He nods, his hands on fists.

"Have you served time? Sorry, I just- that's another question. You don't have to answer."

She considers him for a moment. His eyes looking around and then back at her, his hands still in fists, his feet shuffle a little.

"Yes, I have… served time. Four months."

He nods again.

"They let me go because they don't have enough proof," she feels she needs to add. "And, in case you are wondering, I'm not guilty."

He lets out a dry chuckle.

"That's good to know, I suppose."

She shrugs.

"When did you get out?"

"Nine weeks ago."

Anna can see he's doing the math in his head.

"So you came to work for us right away."

"Almost. You were the only one that wouldn't ask for references or my… record."

He does not say a thing and she has to think how to phrase the idea inside her mind, and if it is smart to say it at all.

"I couldn't make up my mind about you. If you were just nice or a fool."

"A fool, if you are to trust the sergeant that visited me the other day."

She feels heat in her cheeks. "Sorry about that."

"Patmore wanted to know what was happening."

"And you told her," she states.

"No, I didn't."

She has to look at him at this. "Why ever not?"

"It's not my secret to tell," he shrugs. "Right now she thinks you're ill."

"And how long do you expect to hide from her the fact that I've resigned?" she frowns slightly.

"The thing is," he starts slowly, "I have a proposition for you."

Her heart beats faster, but she tries hard not to get excited. It could be a number of things. "Yes?"

He takes a deep breath. "You tell me what are you being accused of, and you can have your job back."

Her shoulders drop. That's the one thing, the one single condition she can't accept. "I'm sorry. I just told you I can't tell you that."

"I'm sorry, too," he says, and he sounds truthful.

They stay silent for a long time, thoughts swirling around Anna's head. She could tell him, but then, she would have to tell him the whole story. She's not ready for that, and she doubts she'll ever be.

"Mr Bates," she finally speaks. "I- first I want to thank you. That sergeant is wrong. You're not a fool. Not many people would even give trust a shot when hiring somebody."

"Do you think that's what I did?"

"Yes." She takes a deep breath. "And now, if I may be so bold, I'd like to ask you to trust again."

He closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, he looks straight at her. "You're asking me to hire you again, knowing what I know, and ignoring the reason you're being charged?"

"Yes," she repeats.

He stands up and walks to the window. She knows the sight by heart: a dirty street, ugly houses in front, a broken streetlamp. He takes enough time to give the impression he's committing it to memory.

"Tomorrow." He finally says. "6 am."

* * *

 **AN: Thank you, very very much! This chapter is dedicated to Dudah. Thanks a lot for the great conversation!**

 **I'd like to thank specially to the guest reviewers, whom I can't write personally.**


	5. Chapter 5

She has never been invisible, exactly. It's just that amongst the clients, and the different personalities of the members of his staff, it's easy not to see her.

Now, however, he does not seem to be able to stop noticing her every move.

After his visit to her room, he feels edgy. He is sure he has done the right thing, hiring her back, but he can't forget the fact that she is, indeed, a suspect of something. In his mind he can already hear Patmore's yells. _You knew all this time! And you let her stay!_

He thinks about this as he emerges from the tube next morning. He's taking a great risk. And yet, she has worked there for two months and nothing had gone missing. Anna said the night before she had never stolen anything, and he believes her. But, if it's not theft, why is she been processed for?

Bates does not know if he wants an answer to that.

She is standing there, next to the door, hands deep inside the pockets of her jacket. It's exactly like all the previous mornings since she started working at the restaurant.

"Good morning," he says.

"Hello, Mr Bates." A rare smile, shy yet beautiful, brightens her features. "I think I forgot to thank you for the food yesterday."

No, he has to correct himself, surprised. This is not like any of the previous mornings.

He waves a hand dismissively, as he fumbles with the key. "'Twas nothing."

She does not say a word and, a moment later, she is back in her apron, working her way through the dining room. She does not look up, except when he places her cup of coffee on the counter and she mutters a soft "thanks". He, on the other hand, can't seem to be able to take his eyes off her.

He has noticed she's small and slender. The baggy clothes make a good work hiding exactly how much so. Still, he can see there is grace in her movements; she's not clumsy or slow, but seems to take every task as part of a long, fluid dance. He can't tell how come he hasn't noticed before.

At this Bates shakes his head and, with a self-conscious smirk, gets a cup of coffee for himself. He is really being a fool. She's no different from three days ago, and he should very well keep on behaving normal.

He almost manages, and the weeks pass. Only, sometimes he will catch himself staring at her. Once or twice she seems to sense it, and looks up. At the sight of her big, blue eyes, he hastens to smile and look away.

One night that he stays longer than she, as he closes the door, he steps over something dark. Bates almost dismisses it as garbage carelessly left in the alleyway, but something makes him look back.

The little black notebook is slightly wet in one corner. He takes it, and opens it to assess the damage. Some words are blurred in a couple of pages but that's it. Without thinking, he turns the pages. They are almost completely covered in neat, tiny black handwriting. At the dim light of the streetlamp he can hardly make out the words.

He doesn't need to look at the name written on the first page to confirm it's hers.

Carefully he puts it in the inner pocket of his coat and takes it home.

As he gets ready to go to bed, his eyes travel several times to that notebook, now sitting on his coffee table. He is burning with curiosity, but it also feels like an invasion of her privacy. He shouldn't pry.

She is a mystery. One, he suddenly realises, he's eager to unveil.

In a swift moment, he snatches the notebook and plumps on his couch. He pulls at the rubber band that holds it close and turns the pages, now taking his time. Some of the text seems to have been scribbled in a rush, some of it is so perfect it almost look typewritten. Just the last dozen pages or so are still blank.

He stops at a random page and starts to read. A dialogue between three people. It's nicely done, but he does not know what they are referring to, so it does not make much sense. He goes back a couple of pages. The slow, detailed description of a fantastic meal makes him think of Dickens. He goes further. A small paragraph detailing rain on a windowpane. It's beautifully written and he feels transported to her room. Has she written that there, looking out the tiny window?

Bates closes the notebook with a thud.

He is feeling suddenly uncomfortable. Almost as if he had walked on her naked.

xxxx

It serves her well for sticking to old school notebooks instead of digital ones. No backup copies and now everything is lost. Not that it was great to begin with, but still. And of course, she doesn't have the money for anything digital, for the time being.

No, what Anna misses the most are the blank pages still left.

At night, when she notices the loss of her notebook, her heart sinks. To distract herself, Anna tries to use a cheap one she has on her drawer. It's not the same. The pages are not soft; the words stumble in her head and don't flow through her pen.

Maybe she left it in the restaurant, but she doubts it. She remembers putting it into her pocket right before going out at the end of her shift.

That morning she has to rush getting ready. She's late and the last thing she wants is to arrive after Mr Bates. Especially now that he has every reason to sack her at a moment's notice.

They bump into each other at the tube station. After all these weeks it's a first.

During the short walk she looks at the pavement, trying to surreptitiously see if the notebook fell there. She knows it's close to impossible to find it, but she does not want to give up hope. However, she finds nothing and she enters the restaurant with a sad sigh.

"Anna?" he calls, just as she is taking off her jacket.

"Mr Bates?"

He's holding something on his gloved hand, and her heart skips a beat.

"I believe this is yours." Of all the people in the world, he has to be the one who finds it. "It was lying out there last night," he explains, pointing at the door.

Anna takes it, her bare hand brushing his gloved fingers. She's too embarrassed to properly look at him.

"Thanks." She's suddenly aware of everything inside that notebook. All her silly thoughts and fantasies, those small ideas she sometimes feels the urge to write, all there to expose her in front of him. "Did you- did you read it?" She stutters.

"No, I... well, I might have read a couple of lines..." his eyes are kind, not a trace of mock or disdain, but she feels her cheeks burning. "I'm sorry."

She takes a deep, calming breath. At least he does not seem willing to talk about whatever he read. "Thanks."

He smiles then, warmly, and she sees the corners of his eyes crinkle. With a nod, he heads to his office and she follows him with her gaze until he shrugs off his coat. She realises she has been staring and, hastily, she starts with the day's work.

xxxx

"Roasted turkey, of course," Daisy is saying. "It wouldn't feel like Christmas without it."

"Don't you go sticking to those ideas, there's nothing wrong with pork," Patmore snaps.

"I never say there is. Only, turkey's feels much more Christmas-y."

Bates smiles. He enjoys the unending talk of food between his chef and sous-chef. They have been sharing Christmas recipes and traditions with the rest of the staff during lunch. Today Anna eats with them. She has rescheduled the day's working hours, needing to take a larger break to go to this month's appointment with her case officer. Of course, he's the only one at the table who knows this is the reason.

She sits in complete silence, though, and Bates can see it'll be easy to forget she's even there. Not he, though, not anymore.

"What about you, Anna?" Daisy asks after a while, and Bates sees her almost jump at being addressed.

"Me?"

"Turkey or pork?"

She gives the sous-chef a tight lipped smile. "Turkey, with applesauce and sweet potatoes," her smile grows a tad wider. "Although pork is nice, too" she adds, and Bates suspects she only says so to be on Patmore's good books.

"What about fish?" Alfred asks. "With white sauce, vegetables, roasted potatoes?"

"How's that different from any other day?" Patmore says.

"Does it have to be?"

"Well, yeah," Daisy sneers. "What's the point if not?"

They continue like that for a while. The restaurant will be closed during Christmas and there is a definite air of anticipation. Some of the staff will even take the opportunity to go outside London, to their hometowns.

The conversation splits, and he hears Daisy talking to Anna in a much quieter voice.

"You going somewhere for the holidays?"

He's suddenly and inexplicably eager for her reply.

"I- I think I'll just stay put. What about you?"

"I'm off to Yorkshire with friends." Bates notices Daisy's eyes are still on Anna, and it seems she's studying her carefully.

He knows the reason later, when the sous-chef knocks on the office's door.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course. What is it?"

Daisy closes the door at her back and takes the chair in front of his desk. "It's Anna."

"What happened?" He asks, rather snappishly.

"Nothing." She is quick to say and he almost sighs out loud. "It's just... well, she never talks about herself, or anything much really, but I suspect she'll be spending Christmas alone."

Yes, he has gathered as much, but he can't admit it to Daisy without revealing anything about what he knows.

"I can't invite her over; I think that'll make her feel uncomfortable. But I'd like to give her a little something to eat. To take home with her, that is. I'll cook it at my flat, of course."

"That's a very nice gesture. Only, I'm not sure why are you telling me this."

"Because of the 'not taking food home' rule," she smiles. "I thought I'd warn you and Mrs Patmore, so if any of you sees her walking out with a Tupperware you won't think she's stealing from our pantry or something. I wouldn't want her to be in trouble over this."

Bates chuckles. "Right."

Daisy nods, and stands up to leave.

"You know," Bates adds as a sudden idea forms in his head. "You don't need to do it at home. Do it here, and by all means, use our supplies. I'll clear it with Mrs Patmore."

The sous-chef beams at him. "Will do. Thanks Mr Bates."

xxxx

The restaurant doesn't open on Boxing day and Anna wants to get the advantage of the emptiness to do a proper going over. Plus, it'll be warmer and nicer than staying all alone in her attic room.

"I know this means you'll have to open the door for me," she tells Mr Bates as she asks him if she could work on that day. "I understand if you'd rather not."

"I was going to come anyway, actually" he says. "It's a good idea."

She nods.

"Not at 6 am, though," he adds.

She arrives at ten. For once, and now that she owns two heaters and a duvet, she has managed to sleep soundly and she feels oddly rested. The streets and the tube are almost empty and Anna likes it that way.

Mr Bates is already there, and she is surprised to see him behind the stove, wearing a long apron and chopping something on a board. He looks at her confused expression and smiles.

"I don't just own the place, you know."

She is partly annoyed; she was looking forward to a quiet morning on her own. Now she will have to mind the fact that he's here. On the other hand, he did say he would be. She just has imagined he would stay in his office, as he usually did.

As she is putting on her apron, he calls for her. He's standing right outside the supply room, looking strangely shy.

"I've got you a Christmas present," he says. It's not wrapped, but there's a tiny red bow fixed on it with cello tape.

She takes the small black brand new notebook. "You shouldn't have."

He smiles. "The other one was almost full."

She squints. "You did read more than two pages, didn't you?"

"Not really… well, I might have read four," he looks sheepish, and she can't help smiling at him. "Nothing more, I swear."

"Thank you, Mr Bates," she finally says. She hesitates for a moment, shuffling her feet, uncomfortable. "I didn't get you anything." She would not even know what to get him; she doesn't know a thing about him, she realises now. And yet he has given her exactly what she would have asked for.

"Never mind that."

He looks at her for a moment and she wonders if he wants to say anything. He doesn't and after a nod, he goes back to the stove.

Anna almost manages to forget he's there. Almost. As she is cleaning the dining room, she gets whiffs of delicious smells, and she even hears him hum, once or twice. When she finishes and goes back to the kitchen. Mr Bates is laying the staff table for two.

"Take a break, Anna. Grab a bite." She doesn't know how to feel about this. It's kind of him surely, but she's not comfortable with them being alone. Still, she suspects she can't refuse.

"You shouldn't, really," she mumbles.

"There's no fun eating alone," he answers, taking a seat and waving at the empty one in front of him. At least there is a vast wooden surface between them, Anna notices.

She sits, and curiosity wins her over. There is some sort of meat, an assortment of cooked vegetables and a plate full of different kinds of cheese.

"I promise that, if you don't like it, I'll call to order a pizza."

She chuckles. "Why wouldn't I like it?"

"Well," he sighs. "You must be used to Patmore's standards by now. I'm no match."

"Can I be the judge of that?" suddenly she's starting to feel a little less weird. Not entirely comfortable, but not too awkward either.

"Fair enough. Wait," he says, standing up. "Wine."

Mr Bates comes back with a closed bottle from the winery and two glasses. Anna does not take her eyes off the bottle as he uncorks it and serves her some red wine.

"Happy Christmas," he says, and she echoes him.

The scent of the wine suddenly fills her insides, triggering memories. Unconsciously, she closes her eyes and takes a small sip. She sighs.

"You like it." She snaps her eyes open. Mr Bates is looking at her intently.

"I do," she answers truthfully. "It's been awhile since my last glass of wine."

"What do you think?"

She shrugs. "What do you mean?"

"Well… you seem to know what you're doing." Anna tugs at her sleeves, suddenly self-conscious. "Come on, tell me," he insists.

"It's… well… I think you can't go wrong with a Merlot." Words seem to burst out of her, and it feels as if she had been aching to have a proper conversation for so long, she can't stop them now. "It's just… comforting. Welcoming. And this one… There's an aftertaste of fruits and wood, isn't it? I like it."

Mr Bates is smiling at her. "After that, I'm afraid the food will be disappointing."

"Don't sell yourself short."

It turns out the meat is very good. Anna suspects she would have enjoyed it regardless, hungry as she is, but now she's taking her time with every bite, trying to savour it.

"How come you're not the chef?" she asks.

"I could never be as good as Patmore," he says. She arches an eyebrow in incredulity. "No, really, that woman might have Satan's temper, but she knows what she's doing. I'm just an amateur."

"A good one," she says.

"Thanks. What about you. Do you cook at all?"

"Not really. I could put together a thing or two, but I was never into cooking. I do enjoy good food, though." After a moment she adds. "It's the best part of this job, to be honest."

He smiles again. "I'm glad there's at least something you don't hate."

At this she is surprised. "I don't hate working here. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"You don't look particularly happy," he says simply.

 _Why should I?_

 _Why shouldn't I?_

She just sighs.

"I'm sorry," he says, "that was out of place."

"No, you're right. I don't look… well, so that you know, I happen to like the job. I'd never had thought I'd like being the cleaning lady, but the fact is, it's not bad at all, all things considered."

"All things considered," he repeats, and she knows he wants her to elaborate, but she doesn't.

"And, as I said, the food is superb."

"And the wine's not bad either," he says, pouring some more into her glass.

"I wouldn't have it every day, though. Not when I'm working."

"Of course."

She's suddenly mesmerised at the way his eyes are crinkling in the corners. He doesn't smile like that often, or maybe it's just that she hasn't noticed until very recently.

"I… I better get starting with the kitchen," she stutters, after taking a last sip of wine.

"Let me give you a hand," he says. "It's my mess after all." She won't argue with that.

They finish, and she's ready to go. It's still early, but she can see he wants to close and go home. She will have to do the same, and entertain herself on her own. She has her new notebook, though. The thought makes her smile, and she touches its soft spine; it's safely kept inside the pocket of her jacket.

He has his coat on, too, and heads to the door. She is about to open it when he speaks again.

"Can I give you a lift home?"

She wants to say no. A small enclosed space, just the two of them, it gives her bad, terrible memories she needs to forget. "I don't think-"

"I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable," he starts, and his voice is unsure. "Only, it's chilly, and I hate to think about you, walking on your own like this."

She is touched, and that itself sends a new wave of fear down her spine. Still, he's looking at her with concern. Fondly, even.

Her hands still in her pockets, she touches the notebook again. "All right."

* * *

 **AN: Thank you all, very very much, for reading and reviewing. I know there are still plenty of questions I'm not answering, but bear with me. I'll get to it all, promise!**

 **Cheers!**


	6. Chapter 6

Now he takes her home whenever he is driving. Anna's hesitation ebbs away, and with each passing time, Bates realises it's getting easier for her to say yes.

Sometimes they don't talk. She looks out the window and he hums quietly. On occasions they talk about food, or the restaurant. He is curious to know her opinions on some new recipe they are trying, or her take on an incident of the day.

Her attic room is not near his place, and this detour makes him get there more than half an hour later. He doesn't mind, and hopes she never finds out.

"How did you and Mrs Patmore meet?"

It's the first time she asks a question out of the blue.

"I took a class and she was the teacher," he says, smiling at the memory. "Ages ago. She had us all terrorised, but I learned a lot."

"Was that before or after you got the restaurant?"

"Before. Then, I inherited some money when my mother died. Opening a restaurant had been a dream for a long time, and that was the chance. I just needed a little loan. Only, I couldn't do it all: cook, serve, manage... I remembered Patmore and called her. Turns out she was tired of teaching and not long afterwards I hired her."

She nods, her eyes fixed on the road. Almost like every night, he wonders what could she be thinking, behind that expressionless facade.

"She's more like a partner these days," he adds. "In all these years we've getting through a lot. Sometimes I think she's like a second conscience, whenever mine seems to fail" he chortles at that, and out of the corner of his eye he sees a small smile in her lips.

"That's why you haven't told her about me. I wondered..."

"That's not. You can tell her if you want. I won't; it's not my place to do so."

"Should I?" It's plain she doesn't want to.

"Of course not. I mean, if you want, but I don't see the point."

She nods. "Me neither."

They stay silent for a moment. He's unsure about pushing his luck and trying to find out more.

"So," he finally says, and he has to force himself not to drum on the wheel with his fingers. "How's that going?"

"What?" She is distracted. He could very well change the subject, but he doesn't want to.

"Your… case. You're still meeting with your officer. Has something changed?"

She sighs. "No."

"I'm sorry…"

"Yeah, well. So am I."

He regrets having mentioned the subject now. And he's also annoyed. At himself, at the situation, at her. Why does it always feel like walking on eggshells around Anna? Why should he care to begin with?

"Thanks for asking," she says in a whisper, and he's glad they've stopped on a red light, so he can look at her. She doesn't look angry or hurt, or anything at all, really. "Sometimes it's nice to know there's somebody who gives a shit."

He chuckles. "I do… give a shit." _How is it possible that I am the only one?_ "I'd like to see you out of all this."

"Me too."

Somebody honks behind and he realises the light must have changed a while ago.

xxxx

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong or should I try to get you drunk enough to confess?"

Bates smirks at his friend sitting in front of him.

"Even you wouldn't be able to afford that. Plus, what makes you think something is wrong?"

"Come off it. I know you are a brooder, but this, whatever it is, takes the cookie. I bet you don't have a clue of what have I been talking about for the past half an hour."

At this Bates has to admit there must be some truth in Robert's words. "Soccer?" He offers.

"Ha! Nice try. I knew you weren't listening. So, out with it."

He takes a long sip of beer and looks around the busy pub. "I don't really know if there is an 'it'," he finally sighs.

Robert looks at him thoughtful. "Then?"

"I think… I was just thinking about trust."

"Trust?" It's clear this isn't what he was expecting to hear.

"Trust," Bates takes another sip from his glass. "Does it born out of facts or is it more like a hunch?"

"Well," Robert sighs. "I don't know. It's supposed to born out of facts, right? You're supposed to earn somebody's trust. People are supposed to earn yours. But then, you can see all the 'facts' and be sure you trust that person... and you can be wrong."

"I know," Bates said with an emphatic gesture.

"I know you do. I guess sometimes it's a hunch."

"Like when I asked you to lend me money and help me pay for the restaurant. Was that a hunch?"

Robert smiles fondly at the shared memories. "Yes and no. But time proved I was right in trusting you."

"What if you'd been wrong?"

"Then I'd have lost a lot of money," he replies with a jovial chortle, tipping his glass of beer at him.

Bates nods, his mind far away from the bar and into a small attic room.

"I'll tell you something, Bates," Robert says in a slightly serious tone. "If I can't trust you, I don't think I'd be able to trust anybody. And that was born out of a hunch."

xxxx

"Any plans for your free day tomorrow?" Mr Bates has dropped the question casually, eyes on the wet, rainy road. Not for the first time Anna wonders why is he so interested. Especially considering she has been trying not to be friendly with him at all.

However, she does not want to be rude. "I think I'll go to the new Calder exhibit," she says.

The first time, it had taken her two months to convince herself this was not a waste of money. Afterwards she had felt so good, she had made a habit out of saving some pounds every week, and to do serious research on free art exhibits. When she had her previous job, it rarely occurred to her to go to a museum, passing her weekends at home, watching movies. Now that what she calls home is so depressing, she finds herself looking for excuses not to be there.

"The one at the Tate?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"I was there last week," he says with a small smile. "It's good. I think you'll enjoy it."

Inexplicably, she's taken aback. Has she been expecting him to offer his company? That is just stupid, when she admitted she does not want to be too friendly with Mr Bates. A sudden image has taken over her mind, though, of walking down the halls of a museum, talking about what they're seeing, just like normal people do.

The problem is, she has stopped being normal a long while ago.

"Do you go often?" he asks, and distracted as she is, he has to repeat the question.

"To the museum? Sometimes," she says hesitantly. "I try to go every Wednesday, actually."

"You're very into art, then," maybe she is mistaken, but he looks surprised. It makes sense. Probably, the ideas most people have about cleaning ladies do not include going to museums.

"I think I am. Are you?"

"I try to. When time allows it, I like to see what's happening. I don't know much about anything, though," he adds.

"Maybe…" she hesitates. "Maybe we can go together sometime." _There. I said it._ And it feels exactly like jumping off a cliff must feel like. Her heart beats madly, her stomach feels empty, and she's so very scared.

"I'd like that," he says, his eyes still fixed on the road, but smiling nonetheless.

Anna sighs. She can't tell if she's relieved or even more scared. The only thing she knows is that, somehow, this seems to be a step in the direction to trying to be a person again.

xxxx

They meet at the entrance of the gallery, and he feels as nervous as a teenager on his first date. Which is ridiculous in so many levels, he doesn't want to even think about it. It has been a miracle he had managed to keep on driving, cool as ever, that night she suggested they could go to a museum together. As it was, he thinks he managed to sound nonchalant and, afterwards, he had actually let two weeks pass before asking her to come see this exhibit.

One of the few things he was certain about Anna is that she was easily scared, and any rush move on his part could mean that she would go back to being her distant self.

Not for the first time he thinks about his own reasons for taking an interest in her. He could just let her be, of course, distant, shut off and grey, and maybe that would be for the best. But there is something, or rather, there has been something that night, when she asked him to trust her, that had made him think it'll be worthwhile to take her out of her shell.

"You seem miles away."

Her voice startles him. Miles away indeed. She looks different. Smaller, in jeans and a jacket that, for once, are not baggy. And she is smiling at him again.

Maybe it's that smile, those eyes that sometimes shine bright, what makes it worthwhile.

That day they don't talk much. They silently pass room after room in the gallery and, at the beginning, it feels rather awkward.

He does not attempt to force conversation, though, settling for isolated remarks in front of a painting or other. Maybe she is feeling disappointed, but he doesn't know what to do differently.

And yet, she smiles when they part, and thanks him for accompanying her.

"Perhaps we can do this another time," he says, feeling rather foolish.

"I'd like that," she says, and he wants to believe her. She turns around to go, but goes back. "I know I'm not really great company," her voice is almost a whisper and she's staring at the tip of her shoes. "But I really had a good time, thanks."

"No problem," he mutters awkwardly, but she's already leaving.

He dares asking her again the next Wednesday, and they meet at the British Museum. He has embraced himself for another silent afternoon. She needs time, he repeats inside his mind, just give her some time.

He's right, but this time is different. They talk a lot. Comments about the display, about what they like and dislike, about memories.

He learns she lived in a small town for most of her life, and that she came to London to study at the university. She doesn't say what, and just when he's about to ask, she changes the subject.

She's good at doing that.

Still, that fact explains many things, and a clearer picture takes shape in his head. A decent life. A good job, probably. Her clothes might be a little worse for wear, but they are of good quality. And then, that thing happened, whatever it was. And she lost it all.

That doesn't really explain her fear, though, how she hides and tries to avoid everybody, why is it that she seems to be so lonely. Has she really been cast away by everybody or is this self-imposed? A combination of both, perhaps?

When they finish seeing the exhibit, he has to go back to the restaurant. Their good-byes are just as if it was a day of work. It feels strange, but he feels it's a huge improvement nonetheless.

xxxx

It has taken four exhibits, two of them followed by coffee nearby, and she is starting to feel really at ease.

The conversation flows, from art to books, from childhood memories to recipes, and sometimes she is almost able to forget, as if Green or prison were only a dream. But then, something happens. A remark, a comment in passing, or simply her own mind, or even her body reacting automatically to sudden closeness, and she feels like jumping into an abyss all over again.

This Sunday he's back at the stove. Taking advantage of the restaurant closing early, he's been baking for a while now, and the air is heavy with the scent of chocolate.

"What's that?" Anna asks, as she cleans one of the working surfaces he hasn't used.

"I'm not quite sure..." he crouches to look through the window of the oven. "Either chocolate gateau or a royal mess."

She chuckles. "I hope it's the former."

"Yeah, me too."

They don't have to wait for long. Just as she is putting her broom away, he calls her. On the table there are two small white pots, and the chocolate stuff in them looks delicious.

Mr Bates hands her a spoon. "Careful, it's still very hot."

She takes a small measure and waits for a moment before eating it.

"Well?" he asks.

"Well," she takes her time, enjoying this little game. It's good and he knows it. "'It's no royal mess," she smiles at him.

"How many points out of ten?" He's smiling, too.

"Eight…" he looks downcast. "And a half, she hastens to add."

"Oh well," he grumbles, but she knows he doesn't mean it.

She beams at him. "It's really good."

"I'm curious… what would be ten out of ten, then?"

It's a nice memory. "France. It was a small bistro. I don't know if it was that I was very hungry, or the wine, or the scenery, but that was the best chocolate of my life."

He takes another spoon, thoughtfully. "When was that?"

"Ages ago, during uni."

"Well," he points at the gateau, "this could use…" he looks at his recently licked spoon thoughtfully and she is grateful he hasn't asked more about herself. "Vanilla ice cream."

"Strawberries," she adds. "And personally, I think it could be bitter."

He beams at her. "Next time." He's looking intently and her, and she realises, deep down, she likes his eyes on her like that. But then something snaps inside her and she feels uncomfortable.

"It was great," she sighs, standing up. "Thanks very much."

"What can I say," he says, standing up as well. "You inspire me."

Her heart seems to stop for a beat. She doesn't know what to say to that. "That's silly."

He takes a step forward. He's much too close now, but she's rooted to the spot.

"It's not silly," he says with a low voice. "It's the truth." He takes her hand, and it's a long second before she reacts and takes a step back.

"Mr Bates-" she starts, wishing with all her heart this wasn't happening.

"Anna, I-"

"Mr Bates, please. Don't do this."

His eyes fall, and she sees she has just hurt him. "It's…" it's unfair. But she can't tell him, she can't explain. "It's not you, really. I know people say that, but this time it's true. I'm just…" _I'm too damaged. Too unworthy_. "I'm not ready."

"After all these days I just thought-"

"It's not that I don't like you," she blurts out. Her own words surprise her. "I do, very much. But there are things... I just can't."

Anna turns around and with two long strides she grabs her bag and heads outside.

* * *

 **AN: So... a bit of a cliffhanger. Sorry about that (not sorry, really).**

 **This chapter is dedicated to paclove66, whose review made me think about Bates' past... and I really enjoyed writing that bit. Also, Robert's line about trusting Bates is borrowed from "The Business", by fuzzydream. It's one of my favourite Modern AU and if you haven't read it yet, stop what you're doing and look for it.**

 **Thank you all, very very very much! I love to hear your reviews, comments and suggestions!**


	7. Chapter 7

He stands there for what feels like ages. The fleeting thought of running after her is immediately dismissed. But he can't just leave it like this. Her running away like that-

She said she liked him, and he believes it. He knows, he has seen it in her eyes, even if not frequently. And he has noticed that she has a smile that is only for him.

Bates imagines her now, sitting in the tube, with that blank, empty look he knows so well. Scared, maybe? Annoyed? Hurt? Feeling trapped by the fact that she can't quit the job and thus, she'll be forced to be near him, regardless? The last thing he wants is for her to think that. Any of that.

Mechanically, he puts on his jacket. She has left hers there, in her hurry to go away. Now he can see her walking out the tube station, shivering, her arms around her frame, trying to keep the heat. He takes her jacket with him. It's a very sorry excuse, but he knows she'll need it; just as he knows he needs to see her.

He takes the tube as well; he's impatient at the many stops, and angry at a commuter that stopped the doors from closing. He could have taken a taxi, but then he might have arrived before her. Not until he steps outside the station it dawns on him that maybe she didn't come here. He doesn't know what alternatives there are, so this will have to do.

He sighs in relief when he sees light in her window, shining on the dark buildings against the dusk. Just as that time he came, bringing Chinese food and a lot of questions, the door downstairs is unlocked. Bates hates the thought of her being so exposed.

Last time, he dawdled; slowly climbing up the stairs, thinking thoroughly what he wanted to say and how did he wanted it said. Now he takes the steps at a run, two at a time, and when he stops at her door he is almost panting. And he has no idea what to say.

Not giving himself much time to think about it, he knocks. Inside there is a soft thud, and then silence.

He waits for what feels like an eternity, but nothing happens. Maybe he should knock again. Maybe he should just go home, forget it all and hope she would show up to work tomorrow. He is trying to make up his mind either way when the door finally opens.

"You had to come, hadn't you?" she says wearily, a shadow of a tight lipped smile. He feels slightly encouraged.

"You left your jacket," he hands it to her.

"I noticed," she takes it, and hangs it on the back of the lonely chair.

"Can I… can I come in?" Anna shrugs, and steps back. He enters and closes the door behind him, trying hard to think about anything to say.

She is standing in the middle of the room, and it strikes him how very little she looks, even in this smallest of places.

"I'm sorry," he starts.

"Whatever for?" she is looking at him, and it is as if those large eyes were trying to read his every thought.

"I shouldn't have pushed you-"

"You didn't. Don't you see?" she gives a dry laugh. "You did everything right. Conversations, coffee, lifts home, outings together… there was nothing pushy in any of it. I just… I was too stupid, or maybe just enjoying it too much, and it prevented me to see what was about to come. I would've tried to stop you otherwise."

"I might have been right for some people," he says, taking aback by her honesty. "But it wasn't right for you."

She looks down and sighs. "No, it wasn't."

He takes a step forward, slowly.

"What was it?"

"What?"

"What happened, that scared you this much?"

She looks at him again. She's pulling at her fingers, and shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

"Don't ask me that," she pleads.

He sighs. "I think I need to know."

Anna doesn't say a thing for a long moment and he racks his brain, looking for something else to say that would break that thick armour of hers.

"You don't understand." She finally whispers.

"No. It's you who doesn't understand." He tries to keep his voice calm, but he's failing at it, suddenly impatient at her stubbornness. "I trust you. I've trusted you even after I learned about you being on bail. Even when you refused to tell me what is that about." She is still looking at him, without even blinking or flinching at his raising voice. "You asked me to trust you! Right here! In this very room! And I did," he's clenching his teeth now, and has to take a deep breath to calm down. "Why can't you pay me the same courtesy?"

She is hunched. Defeated.

He gives another tentative step towards her.

"There are too many things about me you don't know," she says.

"I don't care."

"You should."

"Then tell me."

He's much closer now. Slowly he reaches out and she flinches as he cups her face, but this time she doesn't recoil. "Tell me, Anna," he whispers.

His lips are hovering over hers and he has the feeling she has lost the ability to move.

"I..." she starts. He draws even closer, and feels the tip of her nose on his cheek, her warm breath on his. Suddenly, she has turned around. He hears a sob escaping her lips.

"Anna?" He asks softly. "Please."

She's crying now, her shoulders trembling. He puts a hand on her back, as gently as possible, silently praying she won't shrug him off this time. She doesn't even flinch. Encouraged, he walks closer again, and the next thing he knows is that he's hugging her, his large frame wrapped around her small one. Her cries are muffled against his jumper.

"Shh," he whispers. "It's going to be fine."

"It's not," she sobs. "It won't be." Anna takes a deep breath. "He left when I told him."

"Who?"

"Michael. My… my fiancée... he yelled at me. Disgusted. And then he took off." She keeps on sobbing and he rubs circles on her back. "I just- I don't think I could bear seeing that look on your face. Not you."

He sighs over her head. What could possibly be so horrible?

"Try me," he finally says. "Please, Anna, trust me."

She looks up at him, eyes red and puffy, cheeks stained with tears. Slowly, without releasing his hold on her, he cleans them with his thumb.

"Trust _me_."

Finally, she nods. He sighs in relief. Taking her hands, he pulls gently until both are sitting on the bed.

She sighs, looking at their entwined fingers.

"Why are you so good to me?"

He does not answer, but starts tracing circles on the back of her hands. After a moment her breath steadies, and she sits straighter.

"Green was a client of Michael's insurance company," she says, after taking a deep breath. "He came over to dinner a couple of times. He was friendly. Flirty even. I... I thought he was all right. One night Michael is out. Green shows up out of the blue, says he'll wait for him. I let him in. Why wouldn't I?"

Suddenly it hits Bates. He realises he does not want to hear anymore. He doesn't need to.

Tears start running down Anna's cheeks again, but he does not want to let go of her hands.

"He hit me," her voice is flat and shows no emotion. Almost as if she was describing something foreign. Unimportant. "Because I didn't want to do it he hit me, and pushed me around, and then he..."

She breaks in sobs again.

"I know," Bates mutters, pulling her into his arms again.

"He raped me." She says anyway; he can barely understand her words between sobs. He feels his blood boil and he's shaking too. "And since I tried to resist, he hit me again. And afterwards he left me there, on the floor."

Anna keeps on sobbing, but she does not talk anymore. He caresses her hair, and draws circles on her back again. He wishes he could say something, but all words are suddenly meaningless.

xxxx

The smell of chocolate lingers in his jumper, and there is something else. A musky scent she knows it's his. She has stopped crying now, but he is still tracing slow circles on her back; his warm palm and the beat of his heart are soothing. She can't remember ever feeling so empty and at the same time so safe.

He hasn't said anything. No accusations, no questions. She needs to know, though, if it is really possible for her not to be despised this one time. Slowly, so that he won't think she doesn't want him there, Anna looks up.

His eyes are bright, and so full with concern and care. "I'm so very sorry," he whispers, and she feels it's going to be all right. _He_ is not going to go away.

Slowly he draws closer and kisses her forehead, barely brushing it. She gives a shaky sigh, and buries her head on his shoulder again.

He shuffles his back against the wall and she snuggles even closer. It is so terribly strange to be so close to him, to feel his jumper wet from her own tears, but she doesn't want to move, and apparently neither does he.

She doesn't know how, but at some point she dozes off, soothed by his steady breathing and his hands holding her.

Anna wakes up with a start. Mr Bates is still there, arms firmly wrapped around her.

"What is it?" He mutters.

"I'm sorry; I think I fell asleep..."

"S'ok."

"You must be numb," she moves and he stretches his arms.

"Maybe a little," he's smiling though.

She is suddenly self-conscious. "I shouldn't have..." _What? Cry my eyes off like that? Fell asleep?_

"It's ok. Really." His eyes are soft on her, and she misses his warmth already. "Come here," he asks, as if he had read her mind.

She snuggles closer, her head on his shoulder, and he hugs her with one arm.

"I never thought I'd tell you all this," she says.

"I'm grateful you did."

She sighs against his chest. "You are a very silly man, Mr Bates."

He chuckles. "You know you can call me John?"

She looks up at him. He's asking her to break a boundary, and it feels terribly intimate, and yet there they are, in her bed, hugging. Nothing makes sense anymore.

"Why am I silly?" He asks after a while.

"You should have run for the door ages ago."

"Well, I won't. If that makes me silly, so be it." His voice is kind, and he's smiling with his eyes. "There's just this one thing..."

"What?"

"Please, if you don't want to answer, just tell me to bugger off and I will."

"I've already told you the worse."

He sighs. "Why were you in prison?"

She is silent for a long moment. "Murder," she states simply, and the word seems to reverberate against the naked walls. Maybe she wants him to leave. Maybe she's using the word as proof that he shouldn't be there. Whatever the reason, it feels like a test of sorts.

"You killed that fiancée of yours, then?" It takes him a second, and he almost succeeds in sounding nonchalant. "Good thinking."

She chuckles. "You're not silly. You're just plain crazy! I just said I've been in prison for killing a fellow human being and there you are, cool as a cucumber!"

"You told me you're innocent."

"What if I lied? Why aren't you scared? Or disgusted? Or plain indifferent?"

He sighs deeply. "I'd be a hypocrite if I was." He sits up straighter and looks into her eyes. She sees he's weighing his words before speaking. "You see, I've served time, too."

Of all the things he could have said, Anna would have ever expected this.

"What? Why?"

"Theft. Two years. It was ages ago."

"Two years...?" She is frowning slightly. "But... you can't have been guilty, you're not a thief."

"How do you know?"

She thinks for a moment. How, indeed?

"I... I just know you're not. There must be something else."

He smiles. "You're a very silly woman."

She chuckles.

"See?" He speaks again. "I just know you're not a murderer."

None of them says a thing for a moment.

"So, was it the fiancée, then?" He asks, and she is sure he's trying to lift the mood. She appreciates it.

"No. It was Green."

His hand, which had been tracing slow circles on her palm, stops. He has not seen this coming.

"The man who-?"

She nods. "It happened shortly after. Somebody pushed him off the pavement to the road and a bus hit him."

"And you are the main suspect," he says, comprehension finally dawning on him.

"I am the _only_ suspect. I had reason and no alibi."

He sighs.

xxxx

She falls asleep again, after a while, and he wonders how much she needed to take the burden off her chest, and how tiresome it must have been to carry it around for so long. Anna looks peaceful now, not a wrinkle on her face, and it's so very endearing he does not seem able to look away.

He considers going home, and he manages to settle her on the mattress without waking her up. Something stops him, though. He hand is still clutching his jumper, and somehow laying like this with her feels so right, despite how strange the situation is, he really doesn't want to leave her. Doesn't want to go on his own.

So he settles next to her, and she burrows her head in the crook of his arm, with a content sigh. It takes him no time at all to fall asleep too.

After what feels like a moment, he opens his eyes again. Anna is still clutching her jumper and she doesn't seem to have moved at all. Deep blue light filters through the curtains.

She moves, and grunts, and he sees in her expression the exact moment when she realises what's going on.

"You stayed," she mumbles.

"I didn't want to leave you."

She takes a deep breath and, slowly, she opens the hand that had been holding to his jumper all night. With her palm she tries to erase the creases and he revels in the soft caress.

"You must have been uncomfortable."

"Why do you always have to expect the worse?" he asks, good-natured, unable to stop himself.

"Experience?" she offers with a chuckle.

"I can't remember the last time I'd slept as good as tonight," he says truthfully.

"Me neither," she smiles. "Thank you… for… everything."

He looks at her, at those eyes, puffy and red-brimmed, and at her pale cheeks, and wishes nothing but cup her face and kiss those lips.

He doesn't, though. The moment is fragile; now he knows it'll take some time to get there, and it would not do to rush what, he hopes, will happen eventually.

Without realising it, he closes his eyes again. Sudden movement beside him makes him startle.

"What-?" She sits up, and a gush of coldness replaces her place next to his body. "What time is it?"

He grunts, and looks at his wristwatch. "Half past six."

"Oh bollocks," she stands up, and without further ado she enters the bathroom. It's very late, and he knows William will arrive at the restaurant soon, to find it closed and his boss nowhere around.

He could very well get going, make a head start, but he doesn't want to even suggest leaving her. He doesn't want it to feel like a dream. He doesn't want her to have second thoughts and go back to her usual isolated self.

"Anna?" he asks tentatively to the closed door.

"Just give me a minute," she says, and he's relieved to hear it.

When she comes out, she looks much more alert than him.

"I'll call us a taxi, ok?" he says. She nods, and re-enters the bathroom carrying a bundle of clothes.

Less than two minutes later they are sharing the backseat of a car, zigzagging through early morning traffic. He just let William know he will be late.

She is looking through the window, and has barely spoken a word since they left. He feels it's a bad sign, but he doesn't know what to do. They are almost there, when he finally makes up his mind.

"Anna?" she turns around, as if coming out a reverie. "Are you- that is- is everything all right?"

She smiles. "It is, Mr Bates. We're fine."

He can't fail to notice she hasn't called him John yet. But he believes her, nonetheless.

* * *

 **AN: Aaand he finally knows.**

 **Thank you all for your generosity and patience!**


	8. Chapter 8

It's quite a strange feeling. People around her are just the same. Patmore, yelling her head off; Daisy, diligently doing her share; the apprentices and waiters preparing and serving. Nothing has changed, really. But for her, it's an entirely different place.

It's as if she had been looking at the floor this whole time and finally she has the opportunity to look up and really see how shiny the surfaces are, how amazing the scents and fumes that swirl around her, how well orchestrated the dance proceeds.

And then, there's him. After that early morning ride on the taxi, they hadn't talk about anything personal. He has not mentioned their shared night and she won't either. Anna is still not sure how to feel about it all, other than immensely relieved.

As the days pass she suspects Mr Bates still wants more from her, even after her confessing the whole story, but he doesn't say anything. She has seen him staring at her, and hastily looking away; sometimes he smiles and she feels it's the most genuine, warm smile she has ever seen. She can't help but feel fortunate it's directed to her. Does she want him, though? She can't tell. Anna enjoys spending time with him, she's happy when he offers her a lift home, and she looks forward to their conversations. She could stay like this and be his friend, and it would be much more than what she even thought possible after that dreadful night with Green, so many months ago.

And yet, there is this other feeling. A pull of sorts coming from deep inside her.

The first time happens two nights after his staying at her apartment. He is putting on his jacket and she gets a whiff of his scent. It lasts less than a second, she could have imagined it really, but it brings back the memories of his arms around her, of his jumper against her cheek, of that soft kiss on her forehead.

The second time will happen a week after. He suggests they go to the Tate, even though there's nothing new, and she agrees. It's a peaceful afternoon, and they walk side by side, talking and falling silent together, and she enjoys the calm pace and the witty remarks. When they say their good-byes at the tube station, her heart shrinks. She doesn't want the afternoon to end; she doesn't want them to part.

Anna does not say a thing, though, but she can't help thinking about him during the dull ride home, and even afterwards, as she lays in bed, unable to sleep.

The third time she arrives early and he finds her shivering outside the back door.

"I'm an absolute idiot," he mutters as a greeting, and she almost agrees, at least until she gets a cup of coffee.

That morning she will get more than that. "I should have given you this ages ago!" he looks thoroughly embarrassed as he stretches his hand and opens his palm. She knows that key ring. When she takes it, her fingers brush against his palm and she lets them linger; her heart beats madly inside her. "I'm sorry I forgot," he adds.

"I thought you just wouldn't want me to have it."

"Don't be silly," he says, before retreating to his office.

Her next citation at the police station is due next Monday and she tells him one night, right before closing, only to let him know she would have to alter her daily schedule.

"I wonder what Mrs Patmore thinks about this," she says, conversationally. "Me, taking an afternoon off every month."

"She thinks you're in some sort of medical treatment," he says offhandedly.

"What?"

He snorts. "I haven't made an effort to correct her."

"But where did she get that idea from?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "She's always saying you're too good to be true, and that we're going to lose you sooner or later. So, I think she thinks you're ill or something."

Anna can't help but laugh. "That's horrible," she says.

"And yet, you're laughing," he says with a broad smile. He hands her jacket and she can tell his mind is somewhere else. "Can I…?"

She waits, but he doesn't speak.

"Can you…?"

"Can I come with you? To your appointment?" This is definitely unexpected. "I know you probably wouldn't want me in," he says hastily, "and they might not let me anyway but I could wait outside... keep you company… You shouldn't go there on your own."

"Are you serious? Would you do that?"

He nods. "If you want me to."

She has to fight the urge to hug him.

They agree to meet at her flat. This time it's different than her other citations. She feels surer, and at the same time more edgy. They take the tube and barely speak during the ride, but she's glad he's by her side.

As it does every month, the silhouette of the building gives her an urge to just turn around and run in the opposite direction, consequences be damned. She knows she would never dare, but the urge doesn't disappear. She hates the place.

When they are about to climb the stairs, he takes her hand on his; it's amazing how well her small one fits inside his. He doesn't let go and, once they sit in the waiting room, he starts tracing slow circles on the base of her thumb. She looks at him and he gives her a reassuring smile.

"This place sure brings back memories," he says casually, and it finally dawns on her.

"Did you have to come to this station when you…?" she trails off.

"Not this one, precisely, but they all just look the same on the inside."

She sighs. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise this isn't easy for you either."

"Nonsense," he says. "I offered to come, didn't I?"

She smiles, and a question that had taken residence in the back of her head that night he spent with her comes back. He didn't seem to want to talk about that then. And yet, he knows so much about her already.

"Would you tell me what happened?" She asks tentatively. "How did you land yourself in jail?"

He gives her a tired smile.

"Another time, perhaps?"

She nods, slightly taken aback.

"I will tell you," he says, and gives her hand a little squeeze. "I promise. Only... not today."

How could she object to this, when she has been keeping secrets from him for so long?

Anna is called forty-five minutes later. He gives her another soft squeeze, before letting her go.

The office is small, cramped with files, papers and empty coffee cups. Perhaps it's her new job, or maybe the fact that she hates everything about this place, but every time she is in here, she wants to remember bringing her broom and a bucket full of water and disinfectant.

"So," the officer doesn't even look at her from the screen of his computer. "Who's that?" He points his head at Mr Bates through the window pane in the office door. She doesn't answer and he chortles. "Brave chap, that's for sure. How's work?"

"I still got it, if that's what you're asking."

"Aha. Plans for travelling?"

"Hardly. You're still holding to my passport."

"New acquaintances?"

"None. How long is this going to last?" She suddenly snaps. On her previous visits she has just answered the questions and signed the papers, hoping for it to be over as soon as possible. She can't tell why, but she doesn't feel as meek today.

"What do you mean?" He finally takes his eyes off the screen.

"I mean, I've been on bail for four months now. What's happening with the trial? Any news? Suspects? Dates? Something?"

The officer squints his eyes at her. "Do you want to hung, Miss Smith?"

"Excuse me?"

"Being on bail is probably the best scenario for you," he says handing her a sheet of paper and a pen. "At least you're alive." He sneers at her and she decides that if she ever becomes a murderer, this man might very well be her first victim. "Go on now, you know what to do and off with you."

She sighs and signs the papers. Just when she stands up he speaks again.

"You could ask your lawyer to try and speed things up a bit, if you like."

The sole thought of Mr Murray makes her shudder.

Mr Bates looks at her, the moment the door opens. She smiles and he smiles back, although she sees it doesn't reach his eyes. Her smile feels a tad fake, too.

Purposely, she stretches her hand towards him; he takes it and stands up.

"Do you happen to know a good lawyer?"

He beams at her, and now she can see he means it. "I thought you'd never ask."

xxxx

"What do you mean four months on bail?" at the other side of the line, Mary sounds outraged, and he can imagine her pacing her office, the hand that's not holding the phone in a fist.

"Maybe more," he adds.

"But it's a case of murder!" she yells, "What are they waiting for? The corpse to come back as a zombie? A Ouija session?"

Bates smiles encouragingly at Anna, sitting in front of him. She seems to be hearing some of the screaming, because suddenly she looks frightened.

"Her attorney seems not to be very keen on helping her."

"Or, he's a poor useless sod! How on earth has she managed to stick with him for so long?!"

"You'll have to ask her that."

Mary does not say a thing for a moment. "All right, then. Tomorrow at four. Is that ok with her… what's the name?"

"Anna Smith." He says, while mouthing the date and time to her. She nods.

"Got it."

"See you tomorrow, then."

"What, you coming too?"

"I don't want you to scare her, sweetie."

"Oh, sod off!"

And with that she finishes the exchange.

The next morning he goes to see Mary on his own.

He is glad the lawyer has the time to meet with him before. She complained a little about him interrupting her schedule the moment he stepped into her office, but he managed to calm her down offering a cup of coffee from the coffee place downstairs.

"So, what's so urgent that you couldn't tell me later," she goes straight to the point.

"I don't want you to charge her."

For a moment, Mary is speechless, and Bates can't remember when the last time he's seen her like that was.

"You want… what?"

"I want you to charge me, instead," he explains.

She relaxes a little. "For a moment there I thought you were implying I was supposed to work for free… never mind. Why?"

He takes a deep breath. "I don't think she'll be able to afford you. But I know she needs some serious, real help."

"I agree, if that useless attorney of her hasn't managed a thing yet. That's not what I'm asking, though. I'm asking why you want to be the one paying for this. You're not dating, or you'd have mentioned it."

"No, we're not," he sighs into his cup of coffee.

"But you want to," Mary squints his eyes at him.

"Yes, I do."

"She must be something extraordinary, to meet your standards."

"I don't know about any standards," he says dismissively, "but she is rather extraordinary."

Mary sighs and it's so sudden he thinks he might have heard wrong. "So, you're waiting for her to walk Scott free before making your move." Now he understands the tone. Disdain.

"Do you really think that low of me?"

"No, I don't. That's what I can't understand."

He sighs. "I want to be with her now. She being on bail and all. I don't care; I know she didn't do it."

"Then?"

"Then, she doesn't let me. Listen, the story is much complicated than what I've told you, and I'd rather have her talking to you. The only thing I ask is that you send the bills to me."

She looks at him intently. "Are you sure about what you're doing, Bates?"

"I am."

"Only, I remember the last time you tried to be that generous it didn't end well for you at all."

"That was different." The memory tastes bitter and he tries to distract his mind from it. "I know this is different."

She nods. "Suit yourself. But I wish I was sure you know what you're doing." Mary stands up and he does too.

"Thanks, Mary. And say hi to your Da for me."

"Will do. See you later."

They are already walking in opposite directions when she calls him. "Don't think it'll be cheap," she says with a smirk.

"I never expected it to be."

xxxx

"Was Mary your lawyer?" she asks. He's driving them to her office and Anna is suddenly curious. "You know, when you…?" she trails off.

"When I went to jail?" He laughs. "She was still at school, sporting pigtails back then."

"Wait, how old is she?"

He stays silent for a moment. "I may be exaggerating," he says after a moment. "She's not that young now; she was then. But believe me, she's good. Tough."

"Tough," she repeats.

"You need tough." He squeezes her hand briefly. She misses the warmth when he pulls his own hand back on the wheel.

"Do I?"

"Oh yes." After a moment he speaks again. "His father is one of my closest friends. He's older than me, but we go back ages ago and I've known Mary since she was little."

Anna nods at this and looks out the window. She is afraid. What if that officer was right and being on bail was better than the possible result of a trail?

They finally arrive. It's a tall building in a fancy neighbourhood full of offices. The lobby, covered in dark wooden panes, gives her the feeling of how a proper lawyer firm should look like. The small plate on the door says just "Crawley and Crawley".

Mr Bates guides her through the door, placing a hand on the base of her back. The sudden touch makes her freeze for a second, but then she composes herself, hoping he didn't notice.

Mary is a tall, slender woman. Quite young and business-like.

"I'll need you to wait outside," she commands Mr Bates like somebody used to be obeyed.

He retreats, but not before giving Anna a wink. "Scream if she tries something funny." She knows he's joking, but she feels uneasy nonetheless.

"Off with you," Mary says him, and offers Anna a seat and a cup of coffee. "Ok, tell me," she adds the moment the door closes, turning on a small recorder.

Anna knows it's not going to be easy, but somehow after talking to Mr Bates that other night, words seem to flow. Mary does not interrupt her, but she sees in her face the passing of emotions. At the mention of what Green did, her eyes are wide open.

She finishes with a sigh, and for a moment, Mary does not say a thing. Then she starts asking questions, precisions about times and places, things people could have said or done. Anna tries to answer all the best she cans, fighting against the nausea some of the memories bring.

"So…," she starts slowly. "This bastard shows up, without calling first."

"That's right."

"Is it possible that he knew you were alone?" Mary's eyes are fixed on Anna's. "Would you say that he knew what he was doing? As if it was not the first time?"

It's a terrible question. Anna has to replay it all in her mind, struggling to remember words, gestures, facts. "You think I was not the only one."

"That's what I think. And if that's the case, you wouldn't be the only one wanting him under the wheels of a bus, would you?"

"I think he knew…" Anna nods. "I don't know how to explain it."

"Try."

Anna shudders. "He knew how to hold me still. I tried… I tried to move, to kick him or something, but I couldn't."

"Yes, yes, that's it. That's what we're going to go for." Mary stands up and heads to the door. Anna is slightly taken aback by her brisk manners.

"Wait," Anna calls. "I really appreciate this, but we haven't discussed how much this will cost?"

Mary turns around. "Never mind that now," she says. "It's personal between that sort of bastards and me. You'll pay me afterwards, and don't give it another thought. We have more important things to think about now." She smiles for the first time. "I'll let Bates in now, before he digs a hole on the carpet."

Ana chuckles.

He comes in the second she opens the door. "Are you all right?" he asks Anna.

She nods. "Fine."

He squeezes her shoulder and this time, she realises, her body doesn't flinch. She can't dwell on that much, for Mary is asking her about Murray, how to contact him, and names and facts Anna has to write down. After several minutes, and Mary reassuring she'll "talk to that useless sod," Anna and Mr Bates finally leave.

Her mind seems to be too full to process anything; the only solid, tangible thing of the afternoon seems to be him, walking next to her. They go back to the restaurant together, and Anna is glad she has things to do. It allows her to replay her interview with Mary. Unlike Murray, this lawyer never seemed to doubt her innocence. Just like Mr Bates.

Anna looks up at the office's window. He is looking at her. Both smile and she carries on.

That night, after everybody leaves, he opens a bottle of wine. She doesn't protest; she feels like she could use a healthy dose of alcohol. Mr Bates places two glasses on the counter and she leans against it, savouring the moment and the peace and quiet of the empty kitchen.

"I'm really grateful for everything, Mr Bates," she says after a while.

"John."

She smiles, "I'm really grateful, John." The name feels foreign in her mouth, but she likes the way he smiles when she says it. If this is what it takes to trigger that smile, then she is willing to do it. His eyes are bright, and she can't look away.

"I'm glad to be oh help," he says, but she is barely listening.

A sudden idea crosses her mind and it's both the most terrifying and wonderful ever. She leaves her glass at the counter and takes a steady breath. She knows that if she thinks too much, she won't be able to sum up the courage to do anything.

So Anna takes a step forward and places her lips on his.

It takes him a moment to realise what's happening, she can tell as much. But then his lips are brushing against hers, ever so softly, before drawing back.

She takes a deep breath and looks into his eyes; she sees the tell-tale wrinkles and can't help but beam too. Slowly, he cups her cheeks with his hands, caressing them with the tips of her fingers before placing his palms, warm and reassuring. His thumb traces her lower lip and she feels her knees trembling. A moment later, his lips are on hers again. Slowly, warmly pressing and stroking, and she just wishes for the moment to last forever.

It becomes too much, though, and she draws back a little.

"I…" it's difficult to find her voice. "I have to go."

"Can I give you a lift?" he asks.

"Not this time," she says, and she strokes his cheek hoping he'll understand. "I might need the fresh air. I- I'll see you tomorrow, John."

He beams at her and takes her chin between his fingers. "Just one more?" he asks, "to take home with me?"

She smiles, and stands on tiptoes to place a chaste kiss on his lips.

"Let me know that you got home safe," he whispers.

"I will," she says. "Good night."

"Good night, Anna."

* * *

 **AN: Thank you all, very very much. Specially the guest reviewers I couldn't answer to personally. Thanks a lot for your feedback and ideas!**


	9. Chapter 9

He has hardly slept a wink. Lying in bed, he has run the past events over and over in his head. Her asking for help, hand outstretched for him to take; the ride back sitting next to each other in the tube, going to Mary's office; the shared smiles afterwards. The kiss.

He takes his phone from the nightstand and looks for her message, even though he's read it at least five times and he knows it by heart.

 _Got home safe. See you tomorrow. X_

If somebody had told him just that morning that Anna would kiss him, he would have laughed. It would have been nothing but a wonderful fantasy.

But it happened, it actually happened.

He saw her leave the glass of wine on the table, approach him slowly, eyes down, and he didn't realise what was about to happen until her soft lips were on his. It felt like electricity, so sudden and intense, and yet soft, uncertain, slow.

She looked at him, the brightest blue eyes he has ever seen, and he decided he needed to do it properly. The way she was meant to be kissed.

Tired of tossing and turning, and eager to see her, he arrives at the restaurant at half past five. It's too early, but he doesn't care. He prefers being here, where her presence is almost tangible. Five minutes later he hears the back door open. She is early as well.

His heart starts beating madly. What should he do now? How are they suppose to behave with one another? To greet one another?

He exits her office, she is hanging her jacket next to the apron.

"You're early," she says, with a small smile. Her eyes doesn't quite meet his, though, and he fears the worst.

"So are you," slowly, he approaches her, hands behind his back. Just as the night before, he knows she has to be the one making the first move.

She looks at him. For a moment it looks as if she won't move, but then she takes a tentative step in his direction.

He opens his arms a little, and she hugs him, burying her head in his chest with a deep sigh.

"How are you?" he asks, circling his arms around her thin frame.

"Good," she says, looking up at him. Her eyes are bright, like the night before, and her cheeks slightly flushed. He bends down, slowly, giving her time to step back if she wants to. She stands on her tiptoes and a moment later all he can think of is the soft texture of her lips.

It's tentative at first, mouths barely moving, light touches and explorations. He likes it like this, but he also knows there is more, so much more, which he is eager to explore. John moves slowly, turning the touches into small, soft bites, tracing the contour of her lips, looking for signs that she likes what he's doing.

Anna moves her hands up his back to draw him as close as possible, and her body pressed against him makes him bolder. One of his hands moves to softly caress the nape of her neck, while the tip of his tongue joins with her lips, asking for permission. She opens her mouth and he feels her tongue, sending electric shocks through his body. The kiss is not slow anymore, there is nothing shy or careful in it, as her lips become hungry on his, almost demanding, and he complies.

A moment later, though, she is pushing him, gently, and he gives a small step back. Both are panting slightly. He looks into her eyes and is infinitely relieved to see she is still smiling.

"I'm sorry," she says, her cheeks now bright pink. "I- that went out of control."

"I'm not sorry," he smiles, and with the tip of his finger he places a loose strand of golden hair behind her ear.

Anna grins. "Cheeky." She takes a deep breath. "I need to start doing something… before they come."

"I'll go get your coffee."

"That, Mr Bates, would be lovely."

He smiles, unable to take his eyes off her as she gets into the supply room to put on her apron and become the cleaning lady again.

xxxx

She looks at her hands. A frown of disgust appears. It's late; John has just left her. And then she has started worrying over her hands. She hasn't really thought of them since that first week working at the restaurant. Too long hours brandishing a broom and a mop have left her shoulders sore, and her palms with several blisters.

Shortly after, the pain was gone, and the blisters became callous; Anna just stopped thinking about them. Until that time Mr Bates held her hands for the first time in the kitchen of the restaurant. There had been many thoughts running in her head at the time, shame amongst them.

Afterwards, every time he takes her hands she is self-conscious about it, about how hard are them now.

Anna looks at the bottle on the table, she bought during her break, and opens it. She suspects it won't do much good, especially since she won't stop doing what got her he blisters in the first place. Besides, it's a cheap product. But she has to try.

She puts a generous amount of moisturising on her left palm and rubs it against her right.

Even to her, they still feel rough.

xxxx

"Right," Without preamble or invitation, Patmore has entered his office and, after closing the door, she has let herself crash on a chair with a grunt. "Tell me."

"What?" he says, not especially happy of being interrupted thus. Not when he has been remembering the good morning kiss, or rather kisses, he and Anna have shared that day.

"You are shagging Anna."

"I- what?" He blurts out, genuinely shocked.

"There's something going on between the two of you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't what-are-you-talking-about me, John Bates. It's not going to work." She stares at him, lips pursed, and he has to fight the urge to both laugh and slap her.

"Ok, just for the sake of the conversation, could you please explain what's in your mind?"

Patmore sighs. "I know you were going to be difficult. I'm talking about you and Anna, and whatever is happening between you two."

"And what makes you think-"

"It's pretty obvious, honestly! I've known you for ages and never, ever, have I see you smile this much. And the way you look at her... you might want to get a grip on yourself."

"I..." he stammers.

"I have to say, it makes a nice change, though, seeing her now. Smiling. Sometimes even chatting. She has a new spring in her step. You can't fail to notice that."

"I haven't," he says, more to himself, as Anna passes in front of his window. He can't stop his smile at the sight of her.

"Listen, Bates," Patmore takes a deep breath. "Would you be careful?"

He has to look at her now. Does she know?

"About what?"

"About her. It's obvious she's had a rough time. Probably still has. So be careful."

"I am being careful," he grunts.

"You better be," she brandishes a menacing finger at him.

"Tell you what," he says, "why don't you mind your own business?"

"You are my own bloody business!" Patmore says indignantly. "And I don't want your shagging messing with it!"

"Would you stop calling it that?"

"Suit yourself. But this my business. I care about you. And her. So don't ruin it."

"What makes you think I would?"

Patmore just shrugs, and exits the office in a slightly less energetic way.

Bates can't stop thinking about it. He would never hurt her, he knows. And yet she is so fragile and unpredictable...

He sighs. He was much better off daydreaming about her, without her chef putting ideas in his head.

xxxx

They are falling into a routine of sorts that is both unsettling and amazing. Whenever she sees him, she doesn't seem able to resist the urge to touch him, to kiss him, to feel his scent as intensely as possible. So they meet early in the morning and exchange kisses that are turning longer and more demanding with every passing day.

It's usually Anna who ends it, scared of that need that has been awaken inside her, and the way her body is reacting towards his. She had sworn that was a part of her that had died the night Green came to her house.

She is not scared of John, not really. She is the one she is afraid of, and the fact that she is not so guarded against him anymore. To be in that fragile place where she will lean on him, really trust him, be vulnerable to him, is the most scary perspective she can think of.

John respects the fact that she needs some time and some space, and for that, she is grateful. At night they don't kiss as much. She tries to finish her tasks early and they sit on the wooden table, once everybody's gone home, and talk.

Three nights after that first kiss, she dares asking him again

"How come you went to jail?"

He gives her a dry chuckle and pours more wine into their glasses.

"I wish there was a way for you to know without me telling you. But then, I know it's only fair you hear it from me."

He doesn't seem to be really distressed, but hearing him talk like this unsettles her.

"I was married," he begins with a deep sigh, "and working at a restaurant as a maître. Vera... we had known each other for a while, and were married for a couple of years."

"Was it a happy marriage?" She asks, wondering where would the story go.

"I... can't tell you." He looks thoughtful at the glass in his hands. "I wasn't unhappy. But I guess deep down I knew things could be better. Only I never really dared doing something about it, despite the fact that we used to fight a lot." John sighs. "Anyway. She went to the restaurant one night, saying that she was looking for me. They let her in, of course, and told her to wait in the back. And then... she took off with the earnings of the entire week."

"She what?"

"It was well planned. From talking to me, she knew what to look for and where."

Anna looks at him, thoroughly confused. "But then... if it was she who did it, how come you ended up in prison?"

John gives her a grimace. "It's not that simple. By the time I left, they had already discovered the theft and called the police. When I got home she was there, packing. She told me she had done it for us and that we'd better run for it. I- I just couldn't. Wouldn't. So she said she'd go on her own... and that's when the police came. And that's when she told me she was pregnant."

Of all possible things, Anna could honestly say she would have never expected this. "Pregnant?" She says with a small voice. "So you have a child? Where is he?"

"I don't have a child."

He's looking at the table now, and she can see the pain in his eyes. Slowly, she puts her hand over one of his.

"She lied, you see. On many accounts." He whispers hoarsely. "She knew I'd take the blame, if nor for her, for the child. So I did, and she lied for several weeks until I was processed. One day she comes to visit and tells me the truth, and that she was filing for a divorce and going away."

"And didn't you think of...?"

"Telling the truth and accuse her? I... I was convinced I was going to be a father. That thought kept my spirits when I was in jail. When she told me... it was as if that child had died. I lost my will to fight, I had nothing to fight for."

"So you stayed for two years."

"I did."

She doesn't know what to say, shocked by a story she never thought he could have behind. After a moment, Anna stands up and takes the seat next to him, while his eyes follow her.

"You are the bravest, most noble man I know," she says.

"Or just plain stupid."

She caresses his jaw with the tip of her fingers. "You know that's not true."

"As long as you think so," he smiles a little.

She places a small kiss on his lips. "I do."

xxxx

A week after their first kiss, she gets a phone call from Mary, and they go to her office together.

This time Mary allows him to stay, as she rants away her progress on the case.

"That useless, good-for-nothing, sodding bastard!" Anna sits back, a little intimidated but actually enjoying the description of Murray.

"So you did talk to him?"

"Yes I did," Mary snaps. "Old condescending pig! Talking about experience and leaving it to the grown-ups and calling me missy!"

"And the case?" Anna asks.

"The case! I'll tell you about the case. He's the one who should be in jail! Most certainly not you!"

"But what's he done so far?" John asks.

"Nothing! At all!"

"What do you mean 'nothing'?" Anna asks, as her worst suspicions become a fact.

"I'm sorry, not nothing," Mary replies. "He's been stealing your money. That's what he's been doing."

"But I don't understand." Mary looks at her, an eyebrow quirked. "I mean," Anna hastens to add, "that he's a bastard, yes, I can see that. What I don't get is why the people on Green's side are not doing a thing either?"

"There's no such people." Mary grabs a notebook from her desk and her eyes dart through one of the pages. "No family, no close friends as far as we know, and amazingly enough no girlfriend." Her voice drips sarcasm. "Which means it's up to the prosecutor to push things around and he doesn't seem to be in a hurry."

Anna feels her heart sink. "So what am I to do?"

"We'll do the pushing," Mary replies. "You're being held with no prove. It's up to us to move things around. That is... if you hire me." She smiles confidently and Anna grins back.

"I'm actually looking forward to tell Murray he's fired."

"Good."

xxxx

When everybody goes home that night, John and Anna meet in an embrace that speaks of longing.

"It feels like ages since this morning," he says. "You look tired, let's take you home."

She nods, "I am tired. And so glad tomorrow's Wednesday."

During the car ride she barely says a word. He sees her frown at some point, her lips pursed, but he decides to wait and see if she decides to speak to him. At some point she grabs his hand, and he squeezes her gently, but she stays silent.

When they arrive, he is ready to say good-night, despite the fact that her silence has left him restless.

"Would you…" she starts, and bites her lip.

"What?"

"Would you come up for a moment? To talk?"

He doesn't know what to feel about this. Elation, mixed with trepidation. He parks, and when he steps into the pavement, she takes his hand. She doesn't say a word until they are inside her room and then, without preamble, she hugs him.

He circles his arms around her. "What is it, Anna?"

She sighs, "I'm scared."

It's foolish to ask, and he knows it, but he knows she need to speak about it. He rubs his hands against her back and she sighs again.

"I don't want to be convicted. I don't want to go back to prison."

Now he has to look at her. "Whatever gave you this idea?"

Her eyes are bright with unshed tears and she looks pale. "My case officer said that I'm better off like this. On bail. That if the investigation moves forward, I might be found guilty."

"But you're not!"

She arches an eyebrow at him. " _You_ of all people know that that doesn't always matter."

He doesn't have an answer to this.

"What if Mary's investigation just make them decide quicker that I am guilty? What if I'm cutting my time short?"

"You don't know, one way or the other. You don't know if the prosecutor is collecting evidence against you as we speak. You do know that Mary can prevent it. Isn't it better to have the upper hand?"

She sighs, and after a moment she finally nods. "You're right. Of course you are. But I'm so scared," tears trail down her cheeks and he wipes them with his thumb, before pulling her closer.

He knows she doesn't need to hear empty words.

"You know," she speaks again, after a while. "When I first came out, I didn't care. Not really. I'd lost everything. What difference would it make being inside or out?"

"Don't talk like that."

"But it's the truth. And didn't you feel the same when you were in jail? You said so. So that's how I felt. Only now I don't think like that anymore. I want out."

"Good."

"It's your fault, you know?" she looks at him again, and he sees a tiny smile dancing in the corners of her lips. "You're the one that makes me want to be out of this. You're the reason."

His heart seems to ache with this simple yet so meaningful confession. He bends down and kisses her briefly. "I'm so glad." Only, something doesn't feel right. "I don't want to be the reason, though. I want you to fight for yourself."

"I know," she says. "That's what I meant. You've made me believe I'm worth fighting for… it sounds so silly…"

"It doesn't."

She looks at him for a long moment. "Would you stay? Please?"

He holds her tighter. "Of course I will."

"It might be terribly uncomfortable." She says, and points at the small bed against the wall and he chuckles.

"I happen to like your bed very much," he pulls her by her hands and sits on it. She turns off the lights. A warm glow from the streetlamp below filters through the window and he finds it oddly cosy. As she settles on the crook of his arm, he sighs satisfied and holds her even closer. "See? Perfect."

She chuckles, and caresses his cheek with the tip of her fingers. He takes her hand on his and kisses it. "Get some rest," he mutters against her skin.

"You too. And… thanks... for staying."

"Don't thank me. Really. Right now, right here next to you... this is the only place in the world I want to be."

She snuggles even closer and, a short moment later, he hears her breathing even.

xxxx

She wakes up, his warm body against hers. She moves, slowly, to find a new position without waking him up.

"Are you alright?" he mumbles.

"Yes," she says, finding a new soft spot next to him. He moves as well, and leans on his elbow, his eyes fixed on her. "You know," he says softly. "I could get use to this."

"To what?"

"Waking up next to you."

She beams at him. "Me too."

He bends down and kisses her, slowly, and she likes the fact that he is taking his time, allowing her to properly wake up. She lets out a soft giggle and caresses his cheek.

"I like your stubble."

Her hand moves to his neck, and she pulls him to her. The slow kiss suddenly awakes that feeling that seemed to be right under the surface of her skin these days. Her lips have a will of their own and suddenly there is nothing cautious on them as they claim his, or in the way her tongue darts in and out his mouth. He reacts instantly, and their pace is quicker, urgent. His hand is on her neck, tangling on her hair. She draws closer and guided by instinct, she slides a leg between his. John gasps, and she feels his body react to the heat of the moment. He kisses her neck, trailing a path to her ear and back to her lips. Her hands run up and down his back, and settle on his neck.

Anna wants to explore further. She wants him to touch her, to taste her the way she is tasting him. He moans against his lips and she wants him, so very much.

"Wait," he says hoarsely. Leaning back on his elbow he looks down at her. Her hands are still on his shoulders. His mouth is slightly swollen, his hair ruffled. "I- I don't think we should do this."

It's like a very heavy weight dropping on the pitch of her stomach. She thought her story would not be important, that he could see beyond that and just look at her, a woman in front of a man. She had hoped that, even if she had been spoiled, he would still want her. "All right," she says, recoiling from him and trying hard for her voice not to reveal how hurt she is.

"You don't understand," he hastens to say.

"I do. You don't want me," her voice is barely audible. She doesn't want him to explain. She doesn't need him to.

"Oh god, Anna, of course I do. I mean, look at you." He cups her cheek and his voice sounds urgent. "You're the most wonderful, beautiful woman in the world, and I just want to… I want to kiss every inch of your skin, I want to touch you so very much… but I want you to be sure this is what you want. Us."

She is looking at him, mesmerised. Is it possible that he is telling the truth?

"I love you," he says, caressing her cheek, and her heart seems to stop. "And if we do this, I want you to know. I don't want you to feel wanted, I want you to feel loved, above everything."

"You…" she whispers. She wants to say she loves him, but the words get caught in her throat. "I don't-"

"Shh. You don't need to say anything," he says, placing two fingers on her lips.

She traces his jaw with the tip of her fingers. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" She kisses him again, much slower this time. "I do want this," she whispers against his lips. "I know I've been keeping you at arm's' length. And it feels as if it has taking me ages to get to this point. But the truth is, I want this. I want us."

John smiles, a look of wild happiness in his eyes. He bends lower again, and her mouth is ready to welcome him. This time he explores her neck, and trails kisses up her cheek, while his hands toy with her hair. He finds her hair band and pulls it, golden locks spread on the pillow, and he stops just to look at her.

"God, you're beautiful," he breathes, before resuming his kissing. The way he says it makes her believe it.

Their hands explore, their lips taste, and she revels in every touch, in every patch of skin his hands discover. She senses he wants to go slow, but she is suddenly eager, and her leg slides between his again. At some point he tries to take off her sweatshirt; Anna sits up for a moment and helps him. He has a mischievous smile she has never seen before, and it's as enticing as his kisses.

His hands caress her skin, and he kisses her shoulders, her neck, her cleavage. She takes his hand and places it on her breast, she knows he would doubt before doing it, even if he wants it. John takes a deep breath at the contact.

Her hands are working her way under his jumper and shirt, too, until he sits up again, to take off his clothes, and one second after, she is pulling his body against hers again. His skin on her feels soft, and she is torn between wanting to touch, kiss, and explore, all at once.

When he finally ventures a hand between her thighs, her hands stop her caressing his shoulders; she has gone rigid without being aware of it.

"Anna?" he searches for her eyes; she sees concern in his.

"Go on," she says in a hoarse whisper. She has to be in control of her body again. "Slowly."

He looks at her, and his other hand cups her cheek. "I'll never do anything you don't want me to do."

"I know," she says, noticing that her chin is quivering slightly. "I want this."

He kisses her then, slowly, warmly, and she feels her body relax under his touch, as his hand continues caressing the inner side of her thighs. This time he feels her, slowly, barely touching at the beginning. Instinctively, she pushes her hips against his hand, and he goes deeper.

"Oh, John," she mutters, getting lost in a sensation that seems to be new.

He takes his time, exploring first, and then finding out the places where she likes being touched. At some point she starts rocking her hips against his hand, and he moves faster. She mutters his name again; he kisses her, biting and licking. She feels it deep inside her body, the shadow of an emotion, an explosion of sorts she remembers from another time. It comes closer, she feels an indescribable need and the response to it right there... She gasps, barely aware that she has arched her back and shuddered, and with a final moan, she lies still.

Her eyes are closed and she is smiling.

"Are you alright?"

"What does it look like?" she says, looking at him. Alright is probably the understatement of the century.

He feigns a frown. "Yes…" he says slowly, looking at the naked body under his. "You look fine to me."

She chuckles. Anna enjoys discovering this cheeky side of his. John takes his lips in hers, slowly. It's not over yet. She knows, and she wants him to know. Slowly, she ventures her hand low until her fingers meet his length. He lets out a groan and she smiles, satisfied.

Slowly, she makes him lie on his back, suddenly eager to explore as well, with touches, caresses and well placed kisses.

"Oh, Anna," he says, as her hand moves rhythmically and her mouth repeats the paths his has traced on her body.

"I need you so much," she hears herself say.

For a moment they just look at each other. Then, Anna starts to move slowly, her eyes never leaving his, until she feels his tip at her entrance. It's excruciating, but she wants to make it slow, slow enough to cast away any memory of any previous time. She needs to be aware of his every move. Finally, she thrusts, and he fills her in the most wonderful way.

They move in unison, and their voices mix, muttering their names, as their bodies meet once and again. She lets out a soft cry, and a moment after, he is undone. Her body collapses against his and they are panting together, their hearts beating madly.

She can't say how much time has passed. The bluish light has been replaced by the morning golden. Anna is still laying on his chest, but her breathing is now deep. His hand caresses her hair and she looks at him.

"Wow," she says.

"Same here."

"You certainly know what you're doing, Mr Bates," she says with an impish smile.

"Well," he says, sounding casual. "You know what they say: it takes two."

Slowly she moves to settle at his side. He reaches for the duvet and covers them both. His hand settles on her hip, and hers on his chest. Looking up, she places a kiss on the tip of his nose and he sighs, beaming; she can't remember the last time she has felt this relaxed and complete.

* * *

 **AN: I am so very sorry for the delay. I am abroad and with no proper Internet connection.**

 **Thanks very much for your patience. And special thanks to that last Guest reviewer, who made some pretty nice questions.**

 **Cheers!**


	10. Chapter 10

"I'm so glad it's Wednesday," she says, snuggling closer to his chest.

"Me too."

"Not that I don't like the job, mind you" she hastens to add, and he chuckles.

"Well... now that you've mentioned it... that job of yours," he starts, and she feels laughter in his voice.

"Yes?"

"I must confess I don't like it very much."

She props on an elbow to better look at his face of mock seriousness. "Don't you, now?"

"Too long hours," he says, taking her free hand and kissing the back of her fingers. "Not many days off."

"Well... I think that's because I'm such a key player in the entire operation." She is barely able to contain the laughter in her voice.

He cups her face and pulls gently at her to kiss her. "That you are." She hums, getting lost in the feeling, until he speaks again. "Also, I don't like your boss."

At this she chuckles. "What ever is wrong with Mr Bates?" She tries to sound scandalised and she succeeds, as he chooses that very moment to pin her to the bed and start kissing her neck.

"I think he makes you work so much because he's keen on you."

It is difficult to play along, now that his hands are on her hips and her own hands, seemingly on their own accord, are tracing paths up and down his back.

"I daresay he is," she mutters breathlessly.

"Hmm. And what about you?"

"Me? Oh," she says, making extra efforts to concentrate, as his lips have travelled down and have found her nipple. "I might... be keen on him... too"

"Aha," John says against her breast. "That's what I feared."

"Did you?" She manages, before forgetting all about it, as his lips travel further down and she finds herself completely distracted.

It's a long while after that he speaks again, his voice back to normal and the beating of her heart no longer crazy.

"What did you study, when you went to uni?" He is tracing paths on her stomach, stopping just where the sheets cover her, entangled around her hips.

She frowns, but she doesn't mean it, and a second later it is replaced by a giggle, as he finds a ticklish spot.

"Can I have a guess?" He asks.

"Ok then," she shrugs, suddenly curious.

"Art school?"

"No," she snorts.

"Hmm. Social studies."

"No, not at all."

"Literature."

"Nice one, but no."

He smiles at her and quirks an eyebrow. "Then?"

"Well," she rolls her eyes at him. "If you must know it was business school."

At this he looks genuinely surprised.

"I'd never have guessed."

She sighs, but she's not really upset. It just feels strange to talk about it after all that has happened. "I suppose I don't look much like it these days."

He bends down to kiss her, and she snuggles in the crook of his arm. He places his hand firmly on her thigh and starts tracing patterns.

"I wasn't very sure about it. I suppose I just wanted some base, and I thought I'll find a good job."

"And did you?"

"Sort of. I was a bank manager."

At this he shuffles to look at her again **.**

"What?" She asks, amused at his expression.

"I'm trying to picture you in a suit and heels."

Anna snorts.

"Did you like that job?"

"I guess I did. It was a lot of work, usually very stressful. The pay checks were gorgeous, though."

She sighs again. It really feels like a lifetime ago.

He stretches, and shuffles a little. The bed is really too small, she is painfully aware now, but he insists he doesn't mind. It's almost midday, and they have not left it. She can't really complain.

A low rumble makes her startle and she looks at him. "Was that you?"

He looks flustered. "I might be a tad hungry."

"Starving, by the sound of it. Me too."

"Let's get ourselves some food, then." He says, stretching again. "You'll need all your energy."

"Really?" She says, standing up with some difficulty. "How come?"

"Well," he stands up in front of her and nuzzles at her neck. "I might have some suggestions of what to do with the rest of the day."

"Cheeky," she beams at him before entering the bathroom.

xxxx

He is suddenly self-conscious. It was his idea, but now he is starting to have second thoughts.

They shared lunch in a small place where; sitting in a booth, they enjoyed the illusion of privacy. They talked about everything and nothing, holding hands and smiling at each other, overjoyed by the secret they now shared.

And afterwards, he had suggested going to his apartment. Hers was much closer, they could have gone back, but he yearned to have her in his life, to have images of her inside his place. And that bed of hers was really small.

She agreed, with that look that was both shy and anticipating, and he couldn't help but kiss her, right outside the restaurant.

The memories of the hours past next to one another were too strong and both bodies reacted quickly. None of them wanted to waste another precious second.

Now, in front of the door, John wonders if this was a good idea.

His apartment is not grand, nor luxurious, but it is in fact a huge contrast. The last thing he wants is for her to feel awkward or embarrassed.

It is too late anyways, so he opens the door and takes her hand. She smiles, and her eyes dart from one corner the other, taking in the small hall and the glimpse she can get of the kitchen and the living room. In her expression there's just curiosity.

John pulls at her softly and hugs her, his mouth looking for hers. She responds, hungrily, and her hands find their way inside his jumper. He takes off her jacket and takes the opportunity to caress her entire body. It's getting too intense, too soon, but he knows he can't stop them. He won't even try.

Without breaking the kiss he walks down the hall and into the last room. Somehow he manages to get them in bed. That's the last thing he knows before getting lost in the softness of her skin.

He wakes up much later to feel she is not laying next to him anymore. Startled, he looks up.

Anna is standing at the window, her body wrapped on one sheet. The golden glow of dusk and the streetlamps below give her a strange look, almost as if she wasn't really there but on a world of her own. He shuffles and she turns around, with a small smile on her lips.

"Hello," he says, leaning against the headboard to better look at her.

"Hello," she mutters. "You haven't been to the restaurant in the entire day, won't you be missed?"

He shrugs. "Hardly. Besides, I don't really care unless it's you who misses me."

Her smile broadens, but only for a moment. He sees the shadow cross her eyes.

"What is it, Anna?" He asks.

She tries to smile again and walks back to the bed. She sits facing him. "What happens now?"

"What do you mean?"

Anna sighs. "I... I don't really know..."

"Do you know what I want?" He sits up straight.

"Tell me."

"This. Just this." He takes her hand. "You and me, being together, sharing our time, knowing each other... that's all I want."

"But what if I go to jail?"

"You won't."

"What if I do?"

Now it's his turn to sigh. "Well, if that happens, I'll find out the visit hours and we'll make the most out of them. And in the meantime I'd wait for you to come out."

"Would you, though?"

"Stubbornly."

She chuckles and looks at their hands. "You almost make me believe this could work."

"This will work," he takes her chin with his fingers and makes her look up. "And if you give me some time, I'll prove it to you."

Finally she smiles and bends forward to kiss him. It's short, chaste, but John can't help but think it holds hope.

xxxx

She is finishing with the last sweep of the kitchens when he emerges from his office, the rest of the staff already gone.

"How do you feel about classical music?"

She looks at him, beaming. "I like it very much. What are you up to?"

He hands her a printed sheet of paper. "Bach, cello, the two of us, tomorrow."

Anna smiles, and then frowns a little. "I'd love to go, John, really..."

"But?"

"But I have to work tomorrow."

"What about you ask your boss to let you go home earlier?" He asks with an impish smile.

"And who'd finish cleaning the kitchens? Mrs Patmore?"

"That's a thought."

She chuckles and walks nearer. "I appreciate it, really. But I don't think we should break the rules. I need to keep on doing what I do, not just because I want to impress the boss..."

At this he smiles, rather reluctantly.

"... but also because it's important. For me."

He sighs. "You're right." Bending over, he places a kiss on her lips. "Let me see if it's still on Sunday."

She beams. "Sounds perfect."

That night he takes her to her flat. She doesn't ask him to come upstairs and she is glad he doesn't suggest it. She doesn't know if this is because of his own experiences after prison, or just because he is being especially careful not to scare her, but John seems to know and understand when she needs some time for herself.

This is not exactly the reason tonight, though. She has a task.

That afternoon when she had opened the carton boxes and sorted their contents seems to have been ages ago. Back then it was dull, almost painful work. Now she is even curious. She knows what's inside those boxes, of course, but she is no longer afraid of its contents.

Anna doesn't start with the ones labelled "clothes", but with the others right at the bottom of the pile. "Stuff". The first one is very heavy. She opens it; there is a layer of old diaries. She takes one, from two years before. Names of clients, appointments, small columns with numbers, even a week crossed with the word "Paris" written on top. She and Michael took a week off. It's strange how little does she remember from that trip, except standing for a long time in front of a Van Gogh at Orsay's. Michael, bored, had gone to the coffee shop half an hour ago.

She sighs and imagines standing in front of that very same painting with John. He wouldn't have gone to the coffee shop, or pester her to get a move on, that's for sure.

The next diary is from the previous year. Half of it is untouched. The notes end the first weeks of June with an appointment to see one Mr Morrison she never got to. For a wild second she fights the urge to grab a pen and cross that week, writing the word "prison" on top. She doesn't.

With a decisive gesture, she tips the contents of the box on the bare floor and puts all the diaries back inside.

From the old notebooks, she rips a few pages, out of nostalgia more than functional reasons. The lot then joins the diaries.

Anna doesn't know what to do with her old schoolbooks. Although slightly out-dated, she could sell them.

The thought strikes her. She finally understands the exact extent of what she is doing.

"I'm not going back," she whispers, and her voice is both surprised and firm.

Regardless of the outcome of the trial, she just knows she won't work at the bank again. It feels as if this is one of the very first decisions she is allowed to make in a very long time.

From the two heavy boxes only a handful of things escape the trash or the pile of books to be sold. Anna finds an old calendar with pictures of flowers. She picks two of them and pastes them on the wall, next to a lonely picture of a much younger version of her and her late mother. It's quite a small gesture, but it makes her feel proud. It's amazing how different the room looks, with those three pieces of paper.

She remembers the task that has brought all of this about. With a sigh, she opens the other boxes.

The dresses and high heels will stay where they are. She fishes out a couple of jackets and pants. Some shirts that won't hide her body completely as her working clothes usually do. One skirt. A pair of shoes. Makeup. Earrings.

On Sunday, when she meets John downstairs to go to the concert, his eyes open wide and he beams at the sight of her.

"What have I done to become the luckiest man alive?" He says after giving her a lingering kiss.

"Keep those compliments coming, Mr Bates," she says with a cheeky grin, "and you might get even luckier later."

xxxx

He has always enjoyed Bach, but there is something else, almost like a new dimension, to listen to it holding Anna's hand. From time to time he takes a glance at her. When their eyes meet, they smile, and give their hands a squeeze or a gentle caress. A couple of times she doesn't notice him staring, and he indulges himself, looking at her bright eyes, her slightly parted lips, her straight back.

It is so intense he has to look away and focus on the cellist.

During the interlude he suggests going downstairs to get a glass of champagne. She just nods and they walk holding hands.

"It was amazing," she finally manages, once they are standing next to a tall table, two flutes of champagne in front of them. "Thank you."

"It's my pleasure," he says, and he means it. It's been so long since the last time he has shared his life, this experiences with anybody, he was afraid of actually being unable to enjoy it. Anna does not only make him enjoy, she actually makes it all even better.

"Bates!" A booming voice behind them makes the two of them turn around. John has to suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

"Hello Robert, Cora."

"How are you?" His friend's wife asks, taking a covert glance at Anna.

He catches up immediately. "This is Anna. Anna, Robert and Cora, old friends of mine." He stops just in time.

"How do you do?" Anna smiles at them and shakes hands. He can see in her eyes that she is not entirely comfortable, although he doubts the others can tell.

"So, you're the famous Anna." Robert winks at her. "Bates can barely stop talking about you."

She blushes, but before John can defend himself, Cora is speaking. "He is joking," she says, smiling reassuringly.

"I'd hope so," Anna smiles back, still a little flustered. "I've heard a lot about you too, as a matter of fact."

It's not exactly true. John has barely mentioned his friend once or twice, but he likes her quick recovery, and enjoys the fact that Robert seems slightly taken aback.

"All lies, I assure you," he manages. "But Bates and I have a long history together."

"You make it sound as if we were ancient," John laughs, suddenly conscious of an age gap between him and Anna that never seemed to matter before.

"Sometimes it feels like it."

"Speak for yourself."

"Are you enjoying the concert?" Cora speaks again, and Bates recognises the attempt to prevent Robert of teasing any of them any further.

"I am," Anna beams, "he's a superb cellist."

A call rings loudly, signalling the end of the interlude. Both couples say hasty good-byes and go their separate ways.

"So," Anna speaks as they climb up the stairs, "how much of that was staged?"

"What do you mean?" John says, genuinely confused.

"Did you plan on meeting with them?" She arches an eyebrow, partly amused, partly annoyed, he can see as much.

"No. Not really," he says honestly.

"Not really," she repeats.

"I just mentioned Robert we were coming, and since he's heard from you, I gather he's the one who planned coming too, so they could bump into us, accidentally on purpose."

Anna chuckles. "Makes sense."

"Not really. He's too curious for his own good."

"He cares for you, that much is clear. And it's not as if coming here is a terrible ordeal, isn't it?"

John stays silent for a moment, as they take their seats again, people still chatting around them. "Mary is very professional. I hoped she would be, but I'm glad to confirm it."

Anna opens her eyes wide. "What does Mary have to do with them?"

"Oldest daughter."

"What? How come do they have a daughter almost my age? And how come you didn't say?"

"I did! I told you before we met her she is the daughter of one of my closest friends. And... what can I say... they married very young."

She nods, and he can see she is processing the new information.

"They hadn't heard a word about you from her, though. Or they would've said something."

"I'm glad. Although it would have made a nice conversation topic. 'So, Anna, how's being on bail working for you?'" She laughs and he joins in, happy to see that she can see some humour on it.

The musician enters and, as the lights go off, he feels her hand in his. Only, there's something different now. At the beginning he barely notices it. Soft caresses, light touches that seem almost distracted. And then he realises there is nothing casual about it, as she purposely traces the length of each of his fingers, slowly, lingering at the base.

Suddenly he decides that the concert can't finish soon enough.

xxxx

She exits the bathroom to find him sitting on the only chair, his back to her, reading something.

"What's that?" She asks while drying her wet hair with a towel.

He looks up at her, smiling, making a noise of appreciation at her wearing just a towel wrapped around her body. She rolls her eyes, but deep down she also enjoys it.

"This is really good," he says, pointing at the cover of the little black notebook, his finger between the pages.

Now that is something she is most definitely not ready for. With a long stride she is in front of him, and takes the notebook from his hand.

"It's not. And I don't really like you riding it. It's private".

He looks surprised, and taken aback, and it takes a moment for him to speak again.

"I'm sorry. I didn't thought..."

"It's just..." she looks flustered, and changes the weight of her body from one foot to the other. "It's just stuff I write... silly stuff. Sometimes it helps..." she feels she has to elaborate, but she can't. How is she to describe that, during those long months in prison, she used to imagine stories, to keep her company, to keep her spirits up and her mind working? And later, while she was trying to find a place in a world that was suddenly completely different, there they were, silly ideas in a little black book that might very well have saved her from going crazy. "The thing is," she finally says, "it's just meant for me."

"I understand." He says, and maybe he does. John stands up in front of her. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," she finally smiles and he hugs her.

After a moment, he lets go, and she finishes getting dressed. She's putting on her trainers when he speaks again.

"I think it's good nonetheless."

"Don't be silly. It's not, and you're biased."

"I know I am," he says, helping her standing up and kissing her. "Very, very biased." She chuckles. "But that doesn't change the fact that it is good. Have you ever considered submitting some of it somewhere?"

At this she laughs. "You're crazy, Mr Bates. And no. As said, it's private. Now off with you or we'll never get to work on time."

xxxx

This feeling of being so full of energy, ideas, hopes is almost new to him. He suspects it has been like that before, maybe when he just met Vera for the first time, or even before when he was younger.

He doubts it, though. No, this is brand new.

And he knows he shouldn't be this full of ideas and plans. He doesn't know Anna that much, they are barely starting. And yet it feels so right and natural.

Still, a sensible part of him knows they need time. Not just her. Him as well. It's been quite a long time since his last serious relationship; he needs to adjust to this new dynamic, even if it's so amazing.

After that first night in his apartment, when they were hurrying to get ready to open the restaurant, between yawns and stolen kisses that did nothing to quicken their progress, he remembered. While she put on her jacket, he fished a key out of a small box on the table next to the door.

"Here," he took her hand and faced her palm up, to place the key on it.

"What's this?" She asked, without closing her fingers on it.

"Spare key," he pointed at the door, trying hard for his voice to sound casual. He took his own jacket and put it on. "So you can come and go as you please. This place is much closer to the restaurant than yours. If you want to come and take a nap, or a shower, or whatever..." he trailed off, unsure.

She looked doubtful, first at him and then at the key.

"Isn't this too soon?"

"Is it?" He really didn't know. She looks confused too.

"I don't know. Wouldn't you feel I'm invading your space? Wouldn't you want to come home and be alone just to find out I'm here...?"

He smiled then, and took both her hands in his, the key clutched in hers.

"I very much doubt that, but if it ever happens, I promise I'll tell you."

She nodded.

"Besides, this is convenient," he added. "Use it. Really." Anna smiled, although still uncertain. Finally he understood. "Hey, if you need your time and your space, that's alright. Don't... this is what it is. You don't have to feel obliged to do a thing."

Weeks passed, and as far as he knows, Anna has come to take a nap between shifts several times.

The first one, he found a note on his couch, when he came back after having left her at her flat.

 _This is quite a comfy couch, Mr Bates. Next time join me? -A_

The second time she forgets her toothbrush in the bathroom next to his, and he can't tell if it was just forgotten or left on purpose. He never asks and she never tells, but the toothbrush stays there.

He's coming home from meeting with a new supplier. He just wants to take a quick shower, change and go back to the restaurant. She is sitting on his couch, wrapped on a blanket and watching the telly.

It's such a domestic, normal sight, and he feels his chest expand.

She looks at him, slightly flustered.

"Hello. I didn't know you'd come..."

"I'm glad I did," he walks over and sits next to her, giving her a lingering kiss. "What are we watching?" He really couldn't care less.

"Nothing, really. I was just zapping." She turns the telly off. "How was the meeting?"

"Interesting chap. Dreadful wine."

She smiles sympathetically. "A waste of an afternoon."

"I don't know..." he says slowly. Cupping her cheek and starting to kiss her neck. "It might turn out much better than expected."

"Really?"

"Yes..." he smiles at how her hands start to caress the nape of his neck. "I was thinking about taking a shower. Care to join me?"

xxxx

Anna had been tasked to the laundry room. There were worse jobs, but not many. At least, this one didn't have a bad smell.

It is the monotony of the colours what gets her nerves. Always the same, clean or dirty.

She folds now. It's a repetitive task, but she doesn't mind, absorbed as she is in her own fantasies. Only, there is this strange feeling that suddenly makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Anna looks up and realises she is completely alone. The tables, with piles of clothes either folded or waiting to be fold... but no mates, no guards, no supervisors.

She stops what she's doing with a chill running down her spine. When and where did everybody go?

She stands up and walks to the supervisor's room; it's the nearest. The door is closed. She walks down the hall, her steps echoing loudly against the bare walls. Iron bars in the middle of it make her stop. Anna can't remember ever seeing them there. She turns around. There should be another exit, but the corridor seems to stretch in front of her. She runs and starts to pant; wants to call for somebody, but her throat is quite dry. Finally she reaches a corner. More metal bars prevent her from going any further.

Anna turns around to find yet more bars where empty space used to be mere seconds before. The feeling of oppression is just too strong and she gasps for air.

"Anna. Anna."

She snaps her eyes open.

John is looking at her, a crease of concern between his eyes.

"It's over," he whispers, caressing her hair. "You're safe."

"I was having a nightmare..."

"I know," his voice is soothing. He takes a strand of hair from her face and puts it behind her ear. She is covered in cold sweat.

She sits up and leans on the headboard, her heart is still beating madly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He sits up next to her.

"It was nothing... not much to tell. Just, I was back in prison."

John sighs. "Come here," he whispers and she snuggles under his arm. He caresses her cheek slowly.

For a moment none of them speak.

"Do you still dream about it?" She finally asks.

"I wish I could tell you I don't," he kisses her forehead. "But yes, sometimes I still do."

She closes her eyes at his warm touch. It's not the first time she has a nightmare about prison. It's the first time he's next to her when she wakes up. This way is not nearly as terrible.

"What a messed up pair we are," she says after a while. What would it be like if they both were to have nightmares about prison at the same time?

"Do you think so?" He asks, and she feels laughter lingering in his voice.

"Not really," she chuckles.

He suddenly takes his arm off her shoulders and stands up.

"Where are you going?" She asks, feeling suddenly cold.

He takes her hand. "Let's make ourselves a midnight snack."

She chuckles and stands up as well, feeling the shirt she has borrowed from him sticking to her body.

"Are you hungry?"

He beams at her. "Not exactly. But we're doing it because we can."

Now she is beaming back. "Great idea."

* * *

 **AN: Apparently this story is going to have 12 chapters. I am so very grateful of you people reading it and leaving reviews. It's just amazing and it warms my heart.**

 **So, there's one week left for the CS. I intend to finish this story before that, because I'm afraid after watching it I'll just go to a corner and mourn for a while. Or something.**

 **Cheers!**


	11. Chapter 11

Her phone rings just when she is finishing with the dining room before lunch. Mary's name is on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Anna," she speaks briskly. "Could we meet today?"

Her heart starts beating madly. "What is it?"

"Nothing dramatic," Mary hastens to say. "We have some new evidence, but nothing conclusive. Still, I'd like you to come. Does six work for you?"

"Yes. Six is fine... is something the matter?"

"Not more than usual. I'll see you later." And the line was dead.

It feels strange to go to the lawyer's office on her own. Since John had several meetings with suppliers and they didn't see each other during the day, he doesn't even know she's going. A part of her is glad. She appreciates his help but this is the sort of thing she feels she has to do on her own.

"I was right." Mary says without preamble. "There are others. Two of them even denounced the bastard, but there wasn't enough evidence, so they let him go?"

"Why aren't they suspects as well?" Anna is enraged.

"Alibis and the fact that they did denounce him. Since you didn't, it struck them as suspicious."

Anna groans.

"Why didn't you, by the way?" Mary asks, in her usual brisk manner. "You said he hit you. You had proof right there!"

She has to think for a moment before answering. Now, with all those months between that night and the present, it feels rather foolish. She knows better, though.

"You'd say I was stupid."

"I couldn't judge."

"Well… I was expecting Michael to help me… you know, my fiancée." At this, Mary nods. "And afterwards he was such a bastard-" without being able to control it, her voice breaks and Anna has to take a couple of deep breaths before continuing. "I don't know. He made me feel… he made it look as if it was my fault. He even accused me, almost as if I had cheated on him." She hears Mary mutter something that sounds a lot like 'thatfuckingsoddingbastard', but goes on. "I guess I felt that if he wouldn't understand, why would an unknown police officer."

Mary sighs, and grabs her notebook.

"You know the irony of it…" Anna continues. "Back then I was terrified of going to a police station. "I don't know what I would've done then if somebody would tell me I was going to be in jail in weeks' time!"

"Well," Mary sighs. "Irony is one way to look at it."

Both women smile dryly.

"Anyway," Mary's voice recovers the business-like tone. "I know this won't be easy-"

"I don't care anymore. It's obvious nothing has been easy. So, whatever it is, I'll get through with it."

"All right. So, here's the list of names. The women we know for a fact were attacked. The ones we suspect. Others that may or may not have anything to do with it, but were in touch with him before he died. I want you to look at the names and facts, and tell me if something rings a bell."

Anna nods, and takes the notebook Mary hands her. There are a dozen names, neatly written. Some of them have been scratched; others underlined. At first, nothing. Then…

"This one, Laura Jones… she used to work at Michael's company, right?"

Mary checks the name. "Still does."

"Yes, I think she's an assistant or something. Melissa Lee, manager. And this one, too. Only she's…"

Mary reads the name over Anna's shoulder and then checks her own stack of notes. "Human Resources."

Anna checks the list again, twice. "Nothing else."

The lawyer smiles and resumes her seat. "Apparently that Green lurked about you ex's insurance company for a considerable amount of time."

The memories of Michael have unsettled her a little, she realises now. The familiar names bring back images of diners, company gatherings, stuff he would speak back home. It feels foreign; all of that is so different from her current life, and yet it still hurts so much.

She realises Mary's eyes are on her.

"You know," she starts speaking slowly, weighing her words. "That Laura Jones… she is currently living with Michael."

"Are they together now?" Anna asks in a flat voice, not sure of how she feels about it. She loved Michael, but that was so long ago, and so many dreadful things happened, it's almost irrelevant.

"So it seems."

"I don't understand. Why are you telling me this?"

"Maybe it's none of my business," Mary clasps her hands together, her eyes fixed on Anna's. "But I think you should face him."

"Face… Michael? Why?"

"Because the way he left. Because he stole from you. Because last time you were together, you were as broken as any human being can be, and now you're not."

"And do you think he should know this?"

"Darling, I don't give a rat's ass about the man, trust me. But I think it'll do you some good. Go and face those demons. And maybe, get some of your stuff back."

Anna thinks for a moment. If she only could convince herself she doesn't care, but the fact is, she still does. Sadness, shame, anger…

"It'll be even more ironic if it turns out her current girlfriend was also a victim." Anna says dryly.

"I know," Mary says with an emphatic nod.

"If she has, she's been smarter than me, not telling him."

"What a load of bollocks!"

"Excuse me?" Anna blinks a little surprised.

"Sorry, I just had the strongest urge to slap you."

"What?"

"Haven't you seen on your own that you're better off without him? I wouldn't go as far as insulting you telling that the attack was a blessing in disguise, but the fact is that it made it clear as water the fact that you were about to marry an insensitive fucking bastard!"

Anna is silent for a long moment, letting Mary's words sink in. During all those days alone, before the police came, and then with everything that came afterwards, she has never actually had the opportunity to think about her relationship in those terms.

"Now I feel stupid," she finally mutters.

"Good."

"What?"

"Sorry, no good, but you know what I mean."

Anna nods. "Give me that address." While Mary writes it down, it just occurs to her. "And please, Mary, don't tell John- I mean Bates about this."

Mary looks at her, the shadow of a smirk on her lips. "I wouldn't. If he had come with you today, we wouldn't have had this conversation and that would've been a pity."

An idea suddenly occurs to her. A very uncomfortable one. "Can I ask you something Mary?"

"Yes?"

"It's obvious you don't work pro bono. Even if you'd inherited the premises, somebody must be paying for the stationary, to say the least. So… is John paying for this?"

It takes a second for Mary to speak. "He is… but don't take it on him. He was just concerned about you having a shit of a lawyer."

"I know, but I can pay! Probably not what you charge, but something!" She is touched, of course she is, but there is something else. She appreciates him wanting to help, but offering is one thing. Doing it without her knowing, somehow, feels wrong.

Mary shrugs. "Don't think about it until you're free. I mean it." Anna nods, knowing that it will be impossible. "And don't tell him I told you, would you?"

* * *

She seems to be somewhat distant. Maybe he is reading too much into her being tired, or something of the sort, but he has the impression her eyes are not quite meeting his. Still, she kisses him warmly the moment they are alone and he welcomes her in his arms.

"How was your day?" he whispers.

It takes her a moment to reply. "Good I guess. Went to see Mary?"

"Really? Why didn't you tell me? Is something the matter?"

"Noting is the matter. You were away."

"You could've called."

"I know. Only, it didn't seem worth it."

He sighs, not particularly happy with that answer. He knows she's not a little girl, and he can't pretend to be her shadow, but still, he really wishes she had at least told him she was planning to go.

"So, what did she have to say?"

Anna shrugs. "Just a list of names of women that could've known Green. She wanted to know if any of the names ring a bell." She puts her jacket on and he hastens to do the same. Actually he can't wait to be with her properly alone again, not in the middle of the kitchen.

He wonders though, what exactly makes her do these sort of things that seem as if she goes a step back in trusting him. Or maybe she doesn't but to him it feels like it. Maybe he is just too eager, or too... he is not sure exactly, but as they drive in silence she takes his hand and when he looks at her, Anna is smiling.

He must be definitely reading too much into it.

That night they go to his flat. They don't have much time, and both are obviously tired, but the moment they step in, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him fiercely. He answers with enthusiasm and it's a long moment before they part.

"What was that for?" he asks. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

She chuckles. "I guess, I just missed you today."

"Did you now?"

"A tad." Her eyes are bright and her cheeks pink after the kiss. Without pause, he bends down to kiss her again, and a moment later his hands are looking for zippers and buttons, eager to see the whole of her, to have her as near him as possible.

This time she is the one pushing them both to bed, where they land in a frenzy of kisses and touches, muttering their names.

* * *

The neighbourhood is very similar to the one where they used to live together, and that realisation is a little annoying. Of course, Anna shouldn't be bother with it at all, but it still strikes her how he is still living his previous life, or a similar version of it, while hers couldn't be more different.

She stands in front of a three-storey house that has been turned into apartments. His - or should she say theirs - is the one occupying the second floor. The curtains are drawn and there is a very strong possibility neither of them is home.

Coming here without telling John has been much more difficult than what she thought it'll be. He didn't really pry when she told him she wanted the Sunday afternoon for herself, but she could see he was a little hurt. Which was silly, now that she'd think of it. They are together, of course, but they also need some space on their own, don't they?

She sighs. Maybe is the fact that she has come to see the man that once was her fiancée and she has neglected to tell him. But then, she knows he would've wanted to come, and she didn't feel like explaining why it is important for her to do this on her own.

Tired of her own thoughts, which are by no accounts new, she buzzes the intercom.

"Hello?" his voice makes her freeze for a moment. Her heart seems to stop and she realises her palms are sweaty. Still, this is important. She has no doubts.

"Hello," she uses her most professional business-like voice. "I've come to see Michael Holmes."

There is a pause on the other end. "What is this about?"

"Anna Smith," she says, not giving herself time to consider.

It takes a long time for him to answer, until, finally, she hears the buzz again and she pushes the door open.

The inside of the house is very nice, but she doesn't pause to admire it, as she takes the stairs resolutely. He is standing at the threshold, the door ajar not allowing her to see the inside of the flat.

"Hello, Michael," she says flatly.

"It was you then," he shrugs. "Voice sounded familiar."

She cannot tell if it is the almost closed door, his air of nonchalance or just the sight of him, but sudden rage boils inside her. She wants to see him hurt, or, at least, she wants to wipe that smirk off his face for good.

"Is Laura home?" she asks. At this the smile flatters.

"You know about-"

"Never mind that. Is she?"

"Why would you want to know?"

"Because I want to talk to you, and I don't think you'd like her to listen." Anna hears herself speak almost as if it was somebody else doing it for her. She had rehearsed what she wanted to say so many times, trying to make sure she wouldn't break down in front of him, but now it seems there was no need. She suddenly remembers that time going to see Mrs Logan about her missing things, and the old quilt the lady had given her out if pity, and a new wave of anger engulfs her. Michel hasn't move. "Are you going to let me in, or should we carry this on here?"

He looks confused. "Does it have to be now? Only… maybe you'd want to grab some coffee or-"

"It has to be now". _Because I very much doubt I'll ever feel as powerful as I do right now._

"What if I refuse?"

Anna takes a small step towards him. "Do you really want Laura to know exactly why and how you left me?"

"She wouldn't believe you." He sneers, but she sees there's doubt in his eyes.

"Are you willing to bet?"

He sighs. "Come on in," he opens the door and motions towards a living room. It's slightly messy, it's obvious he wasn't expecting anybody. He looks around, a little hopelessly. "Would you want-?"

"I want you to listen to me. You owe me."

He doesn't expect this; that much is obvious. "What exactly?" he almost sneers.

Anna walks around, taking the small details in. "This frame," she points at a red, plastic one, now displaying a picture of Michael and Laura. This time she needs to take a couple of deep breaths before speaking again. It used to display a picture of them, Michael and her, the day of their engagement. "Looks familiar," she finally manages.

He doesn't answer, so she carries on, focusing on her anger. "You took my stuff. When I was away."

"You went to jail!" He snaps. "What use was it to anybody there, inside boxes?"

"You're right. But now I'm back and I want it all back, too."

"It's been more than a year!" he protests.

"Of course. So, I'll take cash."

"What?" It's more than clear he's not expecting this.

"Let's see," Anna recites the list she has repeated so many times inside her head. "Laptop, tablet, books, kitchen appliances - and mind you, there was a very fine mixer I clearly remember buying - linens, curtains, and an assortment of things… like that frame over there."

"You can't possibly prove you bought that stuff on your own!"

"But I could. There is something called credit cards. Receipts. Bank accounts. You, of all people, should know."

Michael pinches the bridge of his nose and Anna takes a small satisfaction on seeing him about to lose control.

"What do you want?" He finally asks. "Is this some sort of revenge? Are you jealous I carried on with my life without you?"

It hits her, hard, and yet she manages to whisper, teeth clenched. "I couldn't care less about your life, Michael."

Both look at each other for a moment, and she can hardly remember what was in those eyes that made her fall in love so long ago.

"5000 pounds," she finally says. "A check. Right now."

"What? Have you gone crackers?" She just shakes her head. "You must have, if you think for even one fleeting moment that you'll get even a penny from me."

She sighs, and this time it's just because of a new wave of rage she has to keep under control.

"Listen to me, you bastard. You owe me. And paying me back is the only decent thing to do. I suggest you do it just to clean your conscience." He snorts. "But, since it seems you are above it all, I will be forced to do this." Mary's words sound inside her head. Not an empty threat. The truth. "I'll speak to Laura, to everybody in your company, and whomever I like about Green, and about how you protected him that night, leaving me, because, I assume, you cared more about that client and your job. Which," she almost manages a chuckle, "is highly ironic, given that he died. So you didn't even secure that account!"

Michael looks lost. He is not looking at her anymore, but at her own two feet.

A sudden sound from the hall make them both jump.

"Sweetie?" calls a female voice.

Michael walks hastily towards the entrance, leaving Anna on her own. She hears him whisper, and then her voice much clearer. "Who?"

A second later she enters the living room, standing still at the sight of Anna.

"Hi, Laura." She manages to sound friendly. _It's not her fault. She might be a greater victim than me_. "Perhaps you don't remember me?"

"Anna," she says without emotion.

"She was leaving," Michael says from the door.

"Of course I am," Anna manages, torn between amusement, rage, and some imprecise feeling she can't really describe. "But don't forget what you need to give me."

She sees the defeat downing on him. Laura turns around to look at him. "What's that?"

"I'll tell you later. Anna, would you come with me?"

She nods. "Sorry to interrupt your afternoon like this," she tells Laura. "Don't worry, it won't happen again."

Michael is already at the door, scribbling something on a small table. She waits, glad that Laura hasn't follow them.

"Here," Michael finally mutters, handing her a check. Anna looks at it; the amount, the signature, the date.

"Thanks very much. And I mean what I said. I won't come again. It's just… too disgusting."

And without further ado, Anna exits the flat, and goes down the stairs as fast as she can. Almost at a run she manages to put some distance between the house and herself. When she sees a bench she collapses on it, finally losing the knot on her throat with a sob. She cries for a while, glad that the passers-by ignore her.

Then, she takes the check out of her pocket and smiles. It's not much. Not nearly what it would've been if she had been thorough with everything he had taken. It was much more than money, though.

Feeling relieved, liberated, almost happy, she heads to the tube, and back to the restaurant, counting the hours to eleven, so she could tell John all about it.

* * *

"I don't understand why you didn't tell me."

To say that he was confused would be an understatement. He simply failed to grasp what sort of ideas had made her go there, and talk to him, and even ask for money. He barely noticed the look of pride and relief when she first arrived. That was gone now.

"There is nothing to tell, really." She sounds exasperated. "I realised I had been letting myself being bullied long enough."

"But was it necessary to go and see him?"

Anna frowns. "Are you jealous?"

"No I'm not." Only, if he is to be honest, he is, just a little. "I'm worried about what that bastard could do to you. He left you badly-"

"I know that, thanks." Her voice is glacial.

"What I mean is, was it necessary to go there and be exposed to him doing... I don't know, something?"

"It was." She says firmly. "I am trying to build my life back. And to do that, I need a clean cut with the past. Or, at least, with its demons."

John sighed. "I wish you had told me." That, and not exactly fear for her safety, is what's gotten him so angry. After all this time, and everything he has done, she still doesn't trust him.

"Why? You'd have wanted to come with me."

"To support you!"

"I know! And I appreciate it!" Though her tone of voice indicates nothing of the sort. "But this is my problem to solve. I need to know I can do it!"

For a long moment they stay silent. John feels that she is waiting for an apology, but he can't find it in himself to say it. He's not wrong in caring, or in wanting her to trust him. And maybe she is not wrong either... only, what a risky way to try and prove it.

"For a moment I thought you were going to a job interview," he finally says. It's the truth. He pictured her not telling him, getting ready and going on her own, just to surprise him with the good news later.

"What ever gave you that idea?" She looks genuinely surprised. "Why would I go to a job interview when I already have a job?"

"Come off it," he sneers. "You can't possibly think this," he waves his hand around the kitchen and points at the supply closet, "is a proper job. Not for you at any rate."

"Oh really? And what, pray, would a proper job be?" Her voice is loaded with sarcasm.

"You know what I mean! Going back where you were! A bank, or something to do with that degree you have."

"Do I need to remind you that I am on bail? I have a criminal record!"

"Still, you could try. See exactly what happens, call people you knew... I don't know! Go back there!"

"And why is that? Because you can't feel comfortable going out with a cleaning lady?"

That hurts. It's unfair. And so very untrue.

"I can't believe you'd think that low of me."

"Then?"

"It's for you! You can't possibly be happy doing this!"

"What if I am?"

"So you want to be cleaning for the rest of your life?" That is the thing he can't understand. There she is, intelligent, capable, educated. Why on Earth isn't she looking for something else?

"You're missing the point! This," she repeats his hand gesture, "this is who I am now. This is what I do. And maybe it's below your standards, I don't know and quite honestly, I don't care! This is my effort! This is me, finding the dignity I thought was gone for good. This is me, fighting, for the first time, to survive. And what's more important, this is me finally succeeding in life. And if you can't understand how very important this is then..." she takes a deep breath. "Then I can't see there's much we can discuss any further."

"What do you mean?" his voice is flat.

"I mean… I can't be with you if you can't find it in you to respect me as I am now." She walks to the closet and takes her jacket and her bag. He hears the words but can barely believe their meaning. "I can't have you trying to force decisions on me, even if with the best intentions. I- that's what you're doing, John. You're forcing stuff on me. And I've had more than enough of that in my life."

"You can't mean- You can't compare-" His brain seem to be overloaded with words.

"Goodbye."

She goes out and he doesn't move. He's too hurt, too angry to know what to do. It's insulting. After all that has happened, after all they have talked and done, the fact that she thinks he considers her below his standards… which standards to begin with? Hasn't she realise he's been doing it just for her all along?

His hands are on fists, and he hits one of the gleaming surfaces of the kitchen.

She might be used to him going after her now, but this time is different. He won't go after her now. Not if this is what she thinks of him.

* * *

 **AN: One more chapter to go! Thank you all very much!**


	12. Chapter 12

Her phone rings and she practically jumps to pick it up. Could it be him? _Please, let it be him_. It's Mary's name on the screen, though. She sighs, and her heart shrinks a little.

It's been a while, actually. Anna hasn't heard from her, from any of them, since that call, more than two weeks ago.

"Mary," she had said without preamble, as she walked as fast as possible from the back door of the restaurant to the entrance of the tube station. "Has John ever sought you to talk about me, without me being present?"

"What? What's this about?" Anna never thought it was almost midnight. Mary could very well have been asleep.

"Please answer the question."

Mary was silent for a moment. "Not really… only…"

"Yes?" she was almost panting and, before entering the station, she took a look over her shoulder. He wasn't following her.

"That first time. We met hours before you came. He wanted to make clear that I should send the bills to him."

"And you didn't talk about anything else?"

"No, we didn't. He wouldn't even tell me properly what the case was about. She wanted me to hear it from you. Anna, what is the matter? Is everything-?"

"I did it," Anna forced her voice to be calm. "I got money from Michael. So, please, from now on, send the bills to me."

"Will do." Mary said, but Anna was barely listening.

The name flashes again. Lost in her own memories, Anna has missed the first call.

"Mary?"

"Hello. Can I come up?"

Anna frowns, not sure if she really understood the question. "Can you what? Where?"

"I'm down here, and quite frankly, this is not my favourite neighbourhood, no offences."

"None taken. Come up."

Anna looks around frantically. The room is not exactly a mess, but it's not tidy either. Even if her new job doesn't have the long hours, she is usually too tired the moment she gets home and she hasn't been able to do a proper cleaning yet. She barely manages to hide the stray clothes in her closet and to tidy up the bed before Mary knocks on her door and she lets her in.

"What are you doing here?" Anna asks with trepidation. It's well past office hours. "What happened with the case?"

"There is no case." Mary says simply, sitting on the chair without waiting for an invitation. She looks very tired.

"What do you mean there is no case?"

"You've been released. There is a heap of paperwork yet to do, but for all purposes, you are free."

Anna feels numb. Mary's words reverberate against a skull that seems to be empty. "What? How?"

Mary sighs and stretches her legs. "One of the women on the list was found guilty. She had been attacked by Green, too, and she took matters in her own hands. It turns out, people recognised her in the scene. There's even a very bad footage from a bank's security camera. She looks a tad like you, but it's her no doubt."

"So I…"

"So, they've dropped the charges against you. It's as if- well, I was going to say it's as if nothing had happened, but that's just stupid. Anyway, in all legal terms, there's nothing."

Anna stays silent for a long moment, contemplating what Mary just said. She was no longer on bail. She was free. Free to get a better-paying job, free to apply to whatever she wanted to, free to speak to people without fearing they would find out sooner or later.

And there wouldn't even be a trial. Not going to court again, or to police stations every month, or to jail.

"Have you eaten?" Mary's voice interrupts her train of thought.

"Not yet."

"Come on, let's get something. And wine. We have to celebrate."

No long after they are sitting at a small table in a pizza place.

"I was at court almost the whole day. Shitty case. It's been allowing me to pull some strings on yours though. Anyway, I get to the office and there it is, the news waiting for me." She takes a large bite and smiles.

Anna still feels in a daze. "So you came."

"Well, this is not the sort of news you tell anybody over the phone, is it?"

"I'm glad. More than glad." She finally manages a smile. "It's just... I can't believe it."

Mary takes a generous sip of wine. "Well, while it sinks in, what's the plan?"

"Quit," Anna replies after a moment.

"Right... where are you working now?"

"Oh, come on, don't make as if you don't know. I took one of those government jobs for ex-convicts."

"Is it as dreadful as people say?"

Anna smirks. "Not at all. Peachy. A walk in the park. Actually why would I bother quitting?"

Mary snorts.

"It's not absolutely dreadful," Anna speaks again. "But if you ever thought cleaning a kitchen was hard, try doing a factory. That's something special. Surrounded by ex-convicts, no less."

"So now you'll quit."

"Gladly."

Both stay silent for a long moment. Anna still trying to grasp the full extent of what Mary's visit implies.

"Can I make a suggestion?"

Anna looks at Mary and suddenly she realises exactly what this is about. "I know what you're going to say."

"Then you know what to do. Go tell him."

Anna sighs and toys with her glass of wine. "Why don't you tell him?" She asks half-heartedly.

"Please. Let's not pretend I don't know a great deal of what's been going on between you and Bates. So, no. I won't. You should tell him."

Anna sighs. "We parted on bad terms. I said stuff I shouldn't have and-"

"I really don't know about that. What I do know is that I saw him at my father's last week. He's not doing very well, to be honest."

"But he also said-"

"So, he's not a saint." Mary snaps impatiently. "And you aren't either."

"I never said I was-"

"You seem to be comfortable enough playing the part of the victim."

"That's below the belt." Anna says indignantly.

"Maybe. But it doesn't change the facts. He is hurt. And it's evident you are, too. Whatever happens between you is none of my business. But you know he at least deserves to know you're not on bail anymore. And he has to hear it from you."

Anna sighs into her glass of wine as Mary's words seem to linger between them. She knows she's right.

"I was really terrible with him, Mary. I said things... I don't know. I guess I panicked." And she has regretted it all ever since.

"Well, he won't chuck you out if you go there, you know."

"Probably not." But he won't have her back either.

"Listen. You've been through a lot, and I'm not saying you're going to forget it all happened, or that you'll be like you were before Green. But you don't have to cast yourself away from everybody. And Bates... he's a good man. You could do much worse."

Anna stares at her almost empty glass of wine without really seeing it. There's a knot in her throat, and her eyes are full of unshed tears.

"I'll get the check, all right?" Mary signals to one of the waiters who hurry around. She looks at Anna again. "Well? Why are you still here? Off with you."

Anna looks back at her. For once the briskly facade crumbles and she sees genuine concern on Mary's eyes.

"I think I will."

"Then go."

Anna stands up, still feeling in a daze.

"Mary, thanks for... everything. You've been a real friend."

"You say that only because you haven't seen my last bill now," she smirks.

Anna chuckles. "Fair enough."

It's almost ten. The dinner shift will be over by now. She doesn't know if she wants to see everybody or not, but she knows that, if she doesn't act now, she'll start overthinking and she will probably go back home. And that wouldn't be fair.

Still having the key to the back door, she doesn't use it. She knows she has no right to anymore.

With trembling hands she knocks. It takes a while until she is heard and when William opens the door he looks really surprised.

"Anna, how are you? Come in!"

She smiles at the waiter and enters. The kitchen staff is shutting for the night. Daisy and Mrs Patmore are bent over the table, checking a sheet of paper.

"... won't serve that dessert again. It was a mess-"

"Hello Mrs Patmore. Daisy."

"Anna! How come you're here?"

"How have you been?"

She feels suddenly shy at the displays of interest. She hasn't been more than a cleaning lady, and just for some months, but it looks as if she was really missed.

"Fine. I just... thought I'd come by and say hello."

Her body is urging her to turn around and look into the office. To meet his eyes and try to find out what to say, but Mrs Patmore and Daisy are talking and she doesn't want to be too obvious.

"Too bad you just missed Mr Bates," Daisy suddenly adds, making her pay proper attention to what she's saying. "He left not long ago."

A heavy weight falls down Anna's stomach. She ventures a glance at the office now. The light is off, it looks strangely unfamiliar.

"Would you like something to eat?" Mrs Patmore cuts in. "Daisy, go get her something."

"No, Mrs Patmore, there's no need, I just had dinner-"

"Something sweet then."

Daisy is already taking something off one of the big freezers and busying herself over it.

"I'm sorry you don't work here anymore. I knew it wouldn't last, but I'm sorry. And make no mistake; he heard a piece of my mind the moment I knew."

Thinking about where could John be, Anna has to make an effort in order to focus on what the chef is saying.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Mrs Patmore frowns and shakes her head. "The fool. He broke your heart, didn't he?"

Anna closes her eyes for a second, trying to make sense of what Mrs Patmore was actually saying. "He… how do you make that out?"

"It was obvious you were crazy about each other. And I warned him not to mess with you."

"Obvious?"

"Oh, come on. You wouldn't expect us not to notice. Those boys, maybe, but not Daisy and I. You… you were different. So different. Before you were just… I don't know how to say it. Only you really looked more alive. He was different too. I've known him for ages and I'd never seen him so happy... And then he blew it!"

"Mrs Patmore, he didn't. I think I did."

"Nonsense," the chef says the moment Daisy places a hot apple tart on the table. "Tuck in."

Automatically Anna does. At her side, Mrs Patmore and Daisy finish their discussion on the menu, but she doesn't pay any attention. Could it be possible…? She felt better when she was with him, that was obvious, but had it been obvious for everybody else? And doesn't it make it all so much worse? As if she depended on him to be happy? Anna shakes her head distractedly, scooping desert. She can't' depend on anybody, not even him.

But what if he just awoke something that was inside her? Something that now won't go away, even without him?

"Anna?" Daisy has called her name twice before.

"Sorry, Daisy. Great apple tart, thanks."

"We're leaving."

"Yeah, I'll go with you."

A woman is sweeping the floors now and it takes Anna a moment to realise she must be the new cleaning lady.

* * *

It has been a very dull business diner and he is glad for it. It gave him the opportunity to let his mind wander distractedly to the menu, to the providers he will need to meet later that week, to her. No, not her. Preferably not her. And yet, thinking about Anna is second nature to him. When did it start, he doesn't know, but much earlier than that first kiss, or even that first night at her flat.

Still, it doesn't do the situation any good.

Has he considered calling her? Many times. He has even scrolled down his cell phone to look for her number and stopped himself hitting "send" just in time. He has composed messages that he never had the courage to send. _I'm sorry. Why did you do this to me? I'm really sorry. You should be sorry._ They change as his mood, and the moment he is glad he didn't send one, he is composing the next, even if it's a complete contradiction.

The diner finally ends. His companions, several men and women involved in the business of wine, seem to be happy. Maybe he has promised something, maybe not, he can't tell.

Somebody offers him a lift, since he has left his car at home, but he refuses. Meaningless, polite chat is the last thing he wants right now. He welcomes the silence and the emptiness of the back seat in the taxi. The driver is playing soft music and he doesn't mind.

How long this strange, automatic existence will last? This is not what depression feels like, he knows. Not anger. This is just a very dull emptiness, an intense boredom, the feeling of just existing. And he's tired of it. He wants out. Even if he can't have her back, he has to have his life back, at least.

The taxi finally stops at the entrance of the building. He sighs. He could go for a walk; he knows sleep will elude him and there is not much to do anyway.

The thought leaves his mind in an instant, as he pays the driver and gets out the car. She is sitting there, in the front steps, hugging her knees. Spring has started, but the nights are still chilly.

His heart had started to jump like crazy the moment he saw her; now, as he walks towards her, it seems to shrink noticing how small and vulnerable she looks.

She is staring straight at him, but she doesn't move.

"Anna?"

She smiles cautiously. "Hello, John."

"What are you doing here?" He takes the final two steps that separate him from her and she stands up.

"Enjoying the view," she says with the shadow of a smile.

"Right," he feels somewhat stupid. Almost as if it was him intruding on her and not the other way around. "Come on in. I'll make us some tea."

"That'll be nice."

He opens the door and they take the lift in silence. He ventures a glance at her, uncomfortable at both the yearning to touch her and make sure she is all right, and the urge to ask, to demand, to speak. She is looking at the changing digits of the lift as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world.

They finally reach the apartment. She takes off her jacket and he hangs it next to his coat. It feels so right and familiar, and yet so painfully strange.

"How have you been?" He finally asks, unable to stay silent any longer.

"I... fine, I guess." He has the feeling she wants to say something else but he doesn't ask and she doesn't elaborate.

"Let's get that tea, then."

He turns the kettle on and asks her to sit. She does, and now he's facing her, and the thousand unasked questions seem to hang in the air between them.

"I..." she starts. "I suppose I better start talking. You must be wondering what I am doing here."

"Not wondering, wishing," he states, and the honesty of his words surprises him, just as it seems to surprise her. "I asked Mary about you the other day." He hastens to say, afraid that he might have said too much too soon.

Anna smiles a little. "Really? What did she say?"

"To take care of my own bloody business myself," he replies with a shrug. It's the truth, but not the whole of it. Mary also suggested he might be a tosser and a wanker, and even if she swore she did not really know what this was about, she was not going to be a bloody messenger. Anna does not need to know all this, at least not right now.

She looks at him for a long moment and, as many other times before, he wishes he could read her thoughts.

"I am really sorry, John," she blurts out. "I don't... I really..." He watches her struggle to find the right words and wishes so much to reach and hold her hand, but he doesn't know what to say and, really, hoping is the only thing he can do. "I said so many things I didn't mean to. Or maybe I did, back then, but now... I guess I was scared."

"You were not the only one," he might as well be honest now. "You, us... it felt so right I couldn't stop thinking ahead. I was so impatient to make it right for you I think I never really thought if it was you I was thinking about, or myself."

She smiles sadly. "It felt... yes I felt so very right-"

The sound of the kettle interrupts her and he stands up hastily. He pours the water and places the cups in silence, still unable to read her. That tiny hope... _has she come to talk things over? To fix them?_ The moment he thinks that's the reason he tries to convince himself this mustn't be it.

"You know," she speaks again. "At first I just wanted to start getting back to normal. Going out, talking, even laughing. You were always kind and I thought... if I can't be normal with you, then who?"

John feels a heavy burden drop on him.

"That's what it was about then? You, using me to try to go back to normal?" He can't help but sneer at the last word.

"No, no. Not using you." She hastens to reply. "I wanted us to be friends! I wasn't ready for anything else. Or so I thought. I... I thought I would never be able to be with anybody again." She sighs, and takes the cup of tea with trembling hands.

"I know," he says, now looking at his own cup. "I wanted to believe I could have changed that. What a fool."

Anna chuckles humourlessly. "You're not a fool, John." He looks up again and her bright eyes are fixed on him. "You succeeded. I... I fell in love with you, so easily, so naturally, that it took me a while to realise it. And there was the fact that you wanted to be with me, despite it all. My past, jail, you wouldn't flinch from any of it. And when I did realise all that I... I panicked." She takes a deep breath and he sees her eyes are now full of unshed tears. No; he wouldn't dare to hope. "The truth is, John, I love you. So very much. And... and I blew it... and I'm so sorry."

He can't take it any longer. Slowly, he touches her fingers, still wrapped around the cup, and she allows him to take her hands in his.

"You didn't blow it."

"Didn't I?" She whispers, and she sounds as hopeful as he can't avoid feeling.

"Not terribly," both smile. "At any rate, I blew it too. I pushed you too much, too hard, forgot to understand that it had to be about you before there is any chance of us."

Anna swallows. "And is there any chance... of us?"

He stands up, pulling at her hands, so she stands up too. "Come here," he whispers, as certainty finally dawns on him. He cups her face, slowly, his eyes looking for hers. He feels her arms around him, and after the longest second, his mouth is on hers.

How he has missed those lips, and the shape of her body against his. This is just how it is supposed to be, and no matter what the future will bring them, her, that's how they will face it all.

She nestles her head in the crook of his neck. "I love you, John. I'm sorry it took me so long to see it."

He kisses the top of her head and she sighs. "I love you too, Anna."

They kiss again. And then another time, and another, more boldly, recognising again what they missed during their time apart.

When they finally reach his bedroom, clothes are a hindrance. Hands fly around, undoing buttons, sliding off garments, exploring.

"Wait, John," he barely hears her, as his mouth has captured her and his hands fumble with the clasp of her bra. "John, stop."

This time she actually pushes him, and he almost flinches, waiting for the worse. She is smiling, though. A wild, impish smile that make him wish to be the one that gets to see her smiling like this every day.

"What is it?" He says, placing a hand on her hip because it is really a waste not to touch her in every possible opportunity.

"I need to tell you... that's what gave me the strength to come, actually."

Now he is puzzled. "I thought you wanted us to talk and-"

"I did. I do. But there's something else..." Her smile broadens. "I'm no longer on bail."

The words seem to take ages to reach him. He understands them, but fails to grasp the full extent of them.

"You're... what about the trial?"

"There won't be one. Not for me." She comes closer and places her hands on his chest. "They found another woman. She is guilty. So they dropped the charges on me."

"Anna... that's" he's beaming and words are failing him. "That's wonderful!"

"I gather it is," she says.

He can't say another word, so he kisses her, and hugs her, and sweeps her off the floor; and she responds with such enthusiasm both end up landing on the bed, in a burst of laughter.

They stay like that for a moment, even after they sober up, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

"How does it feel like?" He finally asks.

She chuckles. "I honestly can't wrap my mind around the idea."

"There'll be time for that."

She nods. "All the time in the world."

He takes her hand and places a kiss on the back of her fingers.

"Would you stay with me?" She whispers.

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

 **...**

 **AN: No, this is not the end. There'll be a short epilogue quite soon.**

 **Thank you all very much!**


	13. Epilogue

There's a beautiful woman standing in front of him. She seems to shine with a light of her own, and her clear voice reverberates as she carefully reads. He is mesmerised by her eyes. Even after all this time he can't stop looking at them. At some point, they meet his, and stay there for a moment, and her smile broadens a little.

His chest expands with emotion. He's proud of her, and so fortunate to be the one who gets to go back home with her, hand in hand.

Anna finishes reading and, as some people gather around her to have their copies of the book signed, he feels suddenly impatient. This is important, he knows better than anybody, but he is eager to be alone with her and tell her, once and again, how much he loves her, and how he falls in love with her all over again each day.

"You are allowed to talk to people, you know," Mary's voice has a hint of amused sarcasm. He chuckles.

"And now you tell me."

She snorts, and her gaze moves to the book on her hands.

"I never thought there would be a poetry book on one of my shelves."

"It might do you good," John notes.

"Surely."

Both stay silent for a long moment, following the scene in front of their eyes. "I hope she doesn't leave me to become a professional writer," Mary speaks again.

"Would that be too bad?" he is curious. Mary and Anna doesn't speak about it, but he know that after more than a year of working together, they have become quite attached to each other.

"A nuisance." She won't succeed at fooling him with that. "It's difficult to find somebody you trust enough to give them full access to your accounts."

"I know what you mean."

"And she doesn't flinch easily," Mary says with a dry chortle, but he is no longer listening. There is just one last woman talking to Anna, as she signs a copy of her book. He walks towards her. Again their eyes meet, and she beams.

The woman leaves and Anna sighs.

"Are you enjoying it?" he asks.

"I am. I thought I wouldn't, but I am."

"I'm glad."

She looks around and he follows her gaze. It was a small event, held in a little library, nothing that really reflects the two years of work on her part. Still, he knows it's so much more than what she would've ever expected.

"Shall we go home, Mr Bates?" She asks, taking his hand with hers.

* * *

Sometimes she still has nightmares. About Green, long corridors, being cold at her old apartment. His arms are always there, though, to hold her, while he whispers it's going to be fine and she believes him.

Sometimes it all goes back and she finds it hard to breathe. She knows it will take some time, and help, but she's learning to be patient with herself.

When she finally got the guts to prepare a manuscript and submit it to a small editor, she didn't tell John. When she got her first rejection email, she almost did, but only because he noticed she was downcast. Still, something made her send the manuscript to another editor, and then another. She kept it all quiet until one day she got a letter saying that, yes, they would publish it.

As they enter his flat - their flat - and he takes her coat to hang it next to his, she looks at the half a dozen copies of the book she has gotten from the editor. She knows she won't make a living out of writing, but the fact that she gets to do it, and even publish it, is more than enough. And, her 'real' work, as she likes to call it, is not that bad.

John had wanted her to go back to the restaurant and work for him. She refused at once and he managed not to be too offended. At the end it was Mary who suggested she could help her as an accountant for the law firm. That was much harder to refuse, and not only because Mary has a way to bully people into doing what she thinks it's best. The fact was that she didn't really want to let all of her old life go. There was no need, really.

"How early do you have to be up tomorrow?" from behind, John whispers into her ear.

Shivers run down her spine as she feels his warm breath on her neck. "Not too early. Mary's got a meeting, so I won't be expected until ten." She turns around and her hands circle his neck. "Why do you ask?" Anna manages to sound nonchalant, but only just.

"Nothing in particular," he imitates her, but his hands caressing her waist say something else.

She stands on tiptoes and he meets her halfway for a lingering kiss.

Anna has no idea, but John will ask her to marry him tonight.

* * *

 **AN: I am so grateful for all of you, I don't have the words to express it. When I published the first chapter of this story I was terrified. You people gave me confidence, and ideas, and so much support... it's been amazing and I'm honoured.**

 **As always, special thanks to all reviewers, with special mentions to Isis the Dog and silly-beggar. The two most difficult chapters to write are the first and the last. Thanks for encouraging me for each of them, respectively.**

 **Happy holidays to you all!**


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